PART I.

TEACHERS' LEAFLETS.

PUBLICATIONS DESIGNED TO AID THE TEACHER WITH SUBJECT-MATTER, TO INDICATE THE POINT OF VIEW, AND TO SUGGEST A METHOD OF PRESENTATION.

THE SCHOOL HOUSE.

BY L. H. BAILEY.

In the rural districts, the school must become a social and intellectual centre. It must stand in close relationship with the life and activities of its community. It must not be an institution apart, exotic to the common-day lives; it must teach the common things and put the pupil into sympathetic touch with his own environment. Then every school house will have a voice, and will say:

I teach

The earth and soil To them that toil, The hill and fen To common men That live right here;

The plants that grow, The winds that blow, The streams that run In rain and sun Throughout the year;

And then I lead, Thro' wood and mead, Thro' mold and sod, Out unto God With love and cheer.

I teach!

LEAFLET I.

WHAT IS NATURE-STUDY?[1]

BY L. H. BAILEY.

[1] Paragraphs adapted from Teachers' Leaflet, No. 6, May 1, 1897, and from subsequent publications.

[Illustration]

Nature-study, as a process, is seeing the things that one looks at, and the drawing of proper conclusions from what one sees. Its purpose is to educate the child in terms of his environment, to the end that his life may be fuller and richer. Nature-study is not the study of a science, as of botany, entomology, geology, and the like. That is, it takes the things at hand and endeavors to understand them, without reference primarily to the systematic order or relationships of the objects. It is informal, as are the objects which one sees. It is entirely divorced from mere definitions, or from formal explanations in books. It is therefore supremely natural. It trains the eye and the mind to see and to comprehend the common things of life; and the result is not directly the acquiring of science but the establishing of a living sympathy with everything that is.

The proper objects of nature-study are the things that one oftenest meets. Stones, flowers, twigs, birds, insects, are good and common subjects. The child, or even the high school pupil, is first interested in things that do not need to be analyzed or changed into unusual forms or problems. Therefore, problems of chemistry and of physics are for the most part unsuited to early lessons in nature-study. Moving things, as birds, insects and mammals, interest children most and therefore seem to be the proper objects for nature-study; but it is often difficult to secure such specimens when wanted, especially in liberal quantity, and still more difficult to see the objects in perfectly natural conditions. Plants are more easily had, and are therefore usually more practicable for the purpose, although animals and minerals should by no means be excluded.

If the objects to be studied are informal, the methods of teaching should be the same. If nature-study were made a stated part of a rigid curriculum, its purpose might be defeated. One difficulty with our present school methods is the necessary formality of the courses and the hours. Tasks are set, and tasks are always hard. The best way to teach nature-study is, with no hard and fast course laid out, to bring in some object that may be at hand and to set the pupils to looking at it. The pupils do the work,--they see the thing and explain its structure and its meaning. The exercise should not be long, not to exceed fifteen minutes perhaps, and, above all things, the pupil should never look upon it as a "recitation," nor as a means of preparing for "examination." It may come as a rest exercise, whenever the pupils become listless. Ten minutes a day, for one term, of a short, sharp, and spicy observation lesson on plants, for example, is worth more than a whole text-book of botany.

The teacher should studiously avoid definitions, and the setting of patterns. The old idea of the model flower is a pernicious one, because it does not exist in nature. The model flower, the complete leaf, and the like, are inferences, and pupils should always begin with things and phenomena, and not with abstract ideas. In other words, the ideas should be suggested by the things, and not the things by the ideas. "Here is a drawing of a model flower," the old method says; "go and find the nearest approach to it." "Go and find me a flower," is the true method, "and let us see what it is."

Every child, and every grown person too, for that matter, is interested in nature-study, for it is the natural way of acquiring knowledge. The only difficulty lies in the teaching, for very few teachers have had experience in this informal method of drawing out the observing and reasoning powers of the pupil without the use of text-books. The teacher must first of all feel in natural objects the living interest which it is desired the pupils shall acquire. If the enthusiasm is not catching, better let such teaching alone.

Primarily, nature-study, as the writer conceives it, is not knowledge. He would avoid the leaflet that gives nothing but information. Nature-study is not "method." Of necessity each teacher will develop a method; but this method is the need of the teacher, not of the subject.

Nature-study is not to be taught for the purpose of making the youth a specialist or a scientist. Now and then a pupil will desire to pursue a science for the sake of the science, and he should be encouraged. But every pupil may be taught to be interested in plants and birds and insects and running brooks, and thereby his life will be the stronger. The crop of scientists will take care of itself.

It is said that nature-study teaching is not thorough and therefore is undesirable. Much that is good in teaching has been sacrificed for what we call "thoroughness,"--which in many cases means only a perfunctory drill in mere facts. One cannot teach a pupil to be really interested in any natural object or phenomenon until the pupil sees accurately and reasons correctly. Accuracy is a prime requisite in any good nature-study teaching, for accuracy is truth and it develops power. It is better that a pupil see twenty things accurately, and see them himself, than that he be confined to one thing so long that he detests it. Different subjects demand different methods of teaching. The method of mathematics cannot be applied to dandelions and polliwogs.

The first essential in nature-study is actually to see the thing or the phenomenon. It is positive, direct, discriminating, accurate observation. The second essential is to understand why the thing is so, or what it means. The third essential is the desire to know more, and this comes of itself and thereby is unlike much other effort of the schoolroom. The final result should be the development of a keen personal interest in every natural object and phenomenon.

Real nature-study cannot pass away. We are children of nature, and we have never appreciated the fact so much as we do now. But the more closely we come into touch with nature, the less do we proclaim the fact abroad. We may hear less about it, but that will be because we are living nearer to it and have ceased to feel the necessity of advertising it.

Much that is called nature-study is only diluted and sugar-coated science. This will pass. Some of it is mere sentimentalism. This also will pass. With the changes, the term nature-study may fall into disuse; but the name matters little so long as we hold to the essence.

All new things must be unduly emphasized, else they cannot gain a foothold in competition with things that are established. For a day, some new movement is announced in the daily papers, and then, because we do not see the head lines, we think that the movement is dead; but usually when things are heralded they have only just appeared. So long as the sun shines and the fields are green, we shall need to go to nature for our inspiration and our respite; and our need is the greater with every increasing complexity of our lives.

All this means that the teacher will need helps. He will need to inform himself before he attempts to inform the pupil. It is not necessary that he become a scientist in order to do this. He goes as far as he knows, and then says to the pupil that he cannot answer the questions that he cannot. This at once raises him in the estimation of the pupil, for the pupil is convinced of his truthfulness, and is made to feel--but how seldom is the sensation!--that knowledge is not the peculiar property of the teacher but is the right of any one who seeks it. Nature-study sets the pupil to investigating for himself. The teacher never needs to apologize for nature. He is teaching merely because he is an older and more experienced pupil than his pupil is. This is the spirit of the teacher in the universities to-day. The best teacher is the one whose pupils the farthest outrun him.

In order to help the teacher in the rural schools of New York, we have conceived of a series of leaflets explaining how the common objects can be made interesting to children. Whilst these are intended for the teacher, there is no harm in giving them to the pupil; but the leaflets should never be used as texts from which to make recitations. Now and then, take the children for a ramble in the woods or fields, or go to the brook or lake. Call their attention to the interesting things that you meet--whether you yourself understand them or not--in order to teach them to see and to find some point of sympathy; for every one of them will some day need the solace and the rest which this nature-love can give them. It is not the mere information that is valuable; that may be had by asking someone wiser than they, but the inquiring and sympathetic spirit is one's own.

The pupils will find their regular lessons easier to acquire for this respite of ten minutes with a leaf or an insect, and the school-going will come to be less perfunctory. If you must teach drawing, set the picture in a leaflet before the pupils for study, and then substitute the object. If you must teach composition, let the pupils write on what they have seen. After a time, give ten minutes now and then to asking the children what they saw on their way to school.

Now, why is the College of Agriculture at Cornell University interesting itself in this work? It is trying to help the farmer, and it begins with the most teachable point--the child. The district school cannot teach technical professional agriculture any more than it can teach law or engineering or any other profession or trade, but it can interest the child in nature and in rural problems, and thereby join his sympathies to the country at the same time that his mind is trained to efficient thinking. The child will teach the parent. The coming generation will see the result. In the interest of humanity and country, we ask for help.

How to make the rural school more efficient is one of the most difficult problems before our educators, but the problem is larger than mere courses of study. Social and economic questions are at the bottom of the difficulty, and these questions may be beyond the reach of the educator. A correspondent wrote us the other day that an old teacher in a rural school, who was receiving $20 a month, was underbid 50 cents by one of no experience, and the younger teacher was engaged for $19.50, thus saving the district for the three months' term the sum of $1.50. This is an extreme case, but it illustrates one of the rural school problems.

One of the difficulties with the rural district school is the fact that the teachers tend to move to the villages and cities, where there is opportunity to associate with other teachers, where there are libraries, and where the wages are sometimes better. This movement is likely to leave the district school in the hands of younger teachers, and changes are very frequent. To all this there are many exceptions. Many teachers appreciate the advantages of living in the country. There they find compensations for the lack of association. They may reside at home. Some of the best work in our nature-study movement has come from the rural schools. We shall make a special effort to reach the country schools. Yet it is a fact that new movements usually take root in the city schools and gradually spread to the smaller places. This is not the fault of the country teacher; it comes largely from the fact that his time is occupied by so many various duties and that the rural schools do not have the advantage of the personal supervision which the city schools have.

_Retrospect and Prospect after five years' work._[2]

[2] From Bull. 206, Sixth Report of Extension Work, 1902.

To create a larger public sentiment in favor of agriculture, to increase the farmer's respect for his own business,--these are the controlling purposes in the general movement that we are carrying forward under the title of nature-study. It is not by teaching agriculture directly that this movement can be started. The common schools in New York will not teach agriculture to any extent for the present, and the movement, if it is to arouse a public sentiment, must reach beyond the actual farmers themselves. The agricultural status is much more than an affair of mere farming. The first undertaking, as we conceive the problem, is to awaken an interest in the things with which the farmer lives and has to do, for a man is happy only when he is in sympathy with his environment. To teach observation of common things, therefore, has been the fundamental purpose. A name for the movement was necessary. We did not wish to invent a new name or phrase, as it would require too much effort in explanation. Therefore, we chose the current and significant phrase "nature-study," which, while it covers many methods and practices, stands everywhere for the opening of the mind directly to the common phenomena of nature.

We have not tried to develop a system of nature-study nor to make a contribution to the pedagogics of the subject. We have merely endeavored, as best we could, to reach a certain specific result,--the enlarging of the agricultural horizon. We have had no pedagogical theories, or, if we have, they have been modified or upset by the actual conditions that have presented themselves. Neither do we contend that our own methods and means have always been the best. We are learning. Yet we are sure that the general results justify all the effort.

Theoretical pedagogical ideals can be applied by the good teacher who comes into personal relations with the children, and they are almost certain to work out well. These ideals cannot always be applied, however, with persons who are to be reached by means of correspondence and in a great variety of conditions, and particularly when many of the subjects lie outside the customary work of the schools.

Likewise, the subjects selected for our nature-study work must be governed by conditions and not wholly by ideals. We are sometimes asked why we do not take up topics more distinctly agricultural or economic. The answer is that we take subjects that teachers will use. We would like, for example, to give more attention to insect subjects, but it is difficult to induce teachers to work with them. If distinctly agricultural topics alone were used, the movement would have very little following and influence. Moreover, it is not our purpose to teach technical agriculture in the common schools, but to inculcate the habit of observing, to suggest work that has distinct application to the conditions in which the child lives, to inspire enthusiasm for country life, to aid in home-making, and to encourage a general movement towards the soil. These matters cannot be forced. In every effort by every member of the extension staff, the betterment of agricultural conditions has been the guiding impulse, however remote from that purpose it may have seemed to the casual observer.

We have found by long experience that it is unwise to give too much condensed subject-matter. The individual teacher can give subject-matter in detail because personal knowledge and enthusiasm can be applied. But in general correspondence and propagandist work this cannot be done. With the Junior Naturalist, for example, the first impulse is to inspire enthusiasm for some bit of work which we hope to take up. This enthusiasm is inspired largely by the organization of clubs and by the personal correspondence that is conducted between the Bureau and these clubs and their members. It is the desire, however, to follow up this general movement with instruction in definite subject-matter with the teacher. Therefore, a course in Home Nature-study was formally established under the general direction of Mrs. Mary Rogers Miller. It was designed to carry on the experiment for one year, in order to determine whether such a course would be productive of good results and to discover the best means of prosecuting it. These experimental results were very gratifying. Nearly 2,000 New York teachers are now regularly enrolled in the Course, the larger part of whom are outside the metropolitan and distinctly urban conditions. Every effort is made to reach the rural teacher.

In order that the work may reach the children, it must be greatly popularized and the children must be met on their own ground. The complete or ideal leaflet may have little influence. For example, I prepared a leaflet on "A Children's Garden" which several people were kind enough to praise. However, very little direct result was secured from the use of this leaflet until "Uncle John" began to popularize it and to make appeals to teachers and children by means of personal talks, letters and circulars. So far as possible, his appeal to children was made in their own phrase. The movement for the children's garden has now taken definite shape, and the result is that more than 26,000 children in New York State are raising plants during the present year. Another illustration of this kind may be taken from the effort to improve the rural school grounds. I wrote a bulletin on "The Improvement of Rural School Grounds," but the tangible results were very few. Now, however, through the work of "Uncle John" with the teachers and the children, a distinct movement has begun for the cleaning and improving of the school grounds of the State. This movement is yet in its infancy, but several hundred schools are now in process of renovation, largely through the efforts of the children.

The idea of organizing children into clubs for the study of plants and animals, and other outdoor subjects, originated, so far as our work is concerned, with Mr. John W. Spencer himself an actual, practical farmer. His character as "Uncle John" has done much to supply the personality that ordinarily is lacking in correspondence work, and there has been developed amongst the children an amount of interest and enthusiasm which is surprising to those who have not watched its progress.

The problems connected with the rural schools are probably the most difficult questions to solve in the whole field of education. We believe, however, that the solution cannot begin directly with the rural schools themselves. It must begin in educational centres and gradually spread to the country districts. We are making constant efforts to reach the actual rural schools and expect to utilize fully every means within our power, but it is work that is attended with many inherent difficulties. We sometimes feel that the agricultural status can be reached better through the hamlet, village, and some of the city schools than by means of the little red school house on the corner. By appeals to the school commissioners in the rural districts, by work through teachers' institutes, through farmers' clubs, granges and other means we believe that we are reaching farther and farther into the very agricultural regions. It is difficult to get consideration for purely agricultural subjects in the rural schools themselves. Often the school does not have facilities for teaching such subjects, often the teachers are employed only for a few months, and there is frequently a sentiment against innovation. It has been said that one reason why agricultural subjects are taught less in the rural schools of America than in those of some parts of Europe, is because of the few male teachers and the absence of school gardens.

We have met with the greatest encouragement and help from very many of the teachers in the rural schools. Often under disadvantages and discouragements they are carrying forward their part of the educational work with great consecration and efficiency. In all the educational work we have been fortunate to have the sympathy and co-operation of the State Department of Public Instruction. We do not expect that all teachers nor even a majority will take up nature-study work. It is not desirable that they should. We are gratified, however, at the large number who are carrying it forward.

This Cornell nature-study movement is one small part of a general awakening in educational circles, a movement which looks towards bringing the child into actual contact and sympathy with the things with which he has to do. This work is taking on many phases. One aspect of it is its relation to the teaching of agriculture and to the love of country life. This aspect is yet in its early experimental stage. The time will come when institutions in every State will carry on work along this line. It will be several years yet before this type of work will have reached what may be considered an established condition, or before even a satisfactory body of experience shall have been attained. Out of the varied and sometimes conflicting methods and aims that are now before the public, there will develop in time an institution-movement of extension agricultural teaching.

The literature issued by the Bureau of Nature-Study is of two general types: that which is designed to be of more or less permanent value to the teacher and the school; and that which is of temporary use, mostly in the character of supplements and circulars designed to meet present conditions or to rally the teachers or the Junior Naturalists. The literature of the former type is now republished and is to be supplied gratis to teachers in New York State. The first publication of the Bureau of Nature-Study was a series of teachers' leaflets. This series ran to twenty-two numbers. It was discontinued in May, 1901, because it was thought that sufficient material had then been printed to supply teachers with subjects for a year's work. It was never intended to publish these leaflets indefinitely. Unfortunately, however, some persons have supposed that because these teachers' leaflets were discontinued we were lessening our efforts in the nature-study work. The fact is that later years have seen an intensification of the effort and also a strong conviction on the part of all those concerned that the work has permanent educative value. We never believed so fully in the efficiency of this kind of effort as at the present time.

LEAFLET II.

THE NATURE-STUDY MOVEMENT.[3]

BY L. H. BAILEY.

[3] Reprinted from the Proceedings of the National Educational Association, 1903. Paper read in general session at Boston, July, 1903.

The nature-study movement is the outgrowth of an effort to put the child into contact and sympathy with its own life.

It is strange that such a movement is necessary. It would seem to be natural and almost inevitable that the education of the child should place it in intimate relation with the objects and events with which it lives. It is a fact, however, that our teaching has been largely exotic to the child; that it has begun by taking the child away from its natural environment; that it has concerned itself with the subject-matter rather than with the child. This is the marvel of marvels in education.

Let me illustrate by a reference to the country school. If any man were to find himself in a country wholly devoid of schools, and were to be set the task of originating and organizing a school system, he would almost unconsciously introduce some subjects that would be related to the habits of the people and to the welfare of the community. Being freed from traditions, he would teach something of the plants and animals and fields and people. Yet, as a matter of fact, what do our rural schools teach? They usually teach the things that the academies and the colleges and the universities have taught--that old line of subjects that is supposed, in its higher phases, to lead to "learning." The teaching in the elementary school is a reflection of old academic methods. We really begin our system at the wrong end--with a popularizing and simplifying of methods and subjects that are the product of the so-called higher education. We should begin with the child. "The greatest achievement of modern education," writes Professor Payne, "is the gradation and correlation of schools, whereby the ladder of learning is let down from the university to secondary schools, and from these to the schools of the people." It is historically true that the common schools are the products of the higher or special schools, and this explains why it is that so much of the common-school work is unadapted to the child. The kindergarten and some of the manual-training, are successful revolts against all this. It seems a pity that it were ever necessary that the ladder of learning be "let down;" it should be stood on the ground.

The crux of the whole subject lies in the conception of what education is. We all define it in theory to be a drawing out and a developing of the powers of the mind; but in practice we define it in the terms of the means that we employ. We have come to associate education with certain definite subjects, as if no other sets of subjects could be made the means of educating a mind. One by one, new subjects have forced themselves in as being proper means for educating. All the professions, natural science, mechanic arts, politics, and last of all agriculture, have contended for a place in educational systems and have established themselves under protest. Now, any subject, when put into pedagogic form, is capable of being the means of educating a man. The study of Greek is no more a proper means of education than the study of Indian corn is. The mind may be developed by means of either one. Classics and calculus are no more divine than machines and potatoes are. We are much in the habit of speaking of certain subjects as leading to "culture;" but this is really factitious, for "culture" is the product only of efficient teaching, whatever the subject-matter may be. So insistent have we been on the employing of "culture studies" that we seem to have mistaken the means of education for the object or result of education. What a man is, is more important than what he knows. Anything that appeals to a man's mind is capable of drawing out and training that mind; and is there any subject that does not appeal to some man's mind? The subject may be Sanskrit literature, hydraulics, physics, electricity, or agriculture--all may be made the means whereby men and women are educated, all may lead to what we ought to know as culture. The particular subject with which the person deals is incidental, for

"A man's a man for a' that and a' that."

Is there, then, to be no choice of subjects? There certainly is. It is the end of education to prepare the man or woman better to live. The person must live with his surroundings. He must live with common things. The most important means with which to begin the educational process, therefore, are those subjects that are nearest the man. Educating by means of these subjects puts the child into first-hand relation with his own life. It expands the child's spontaneous interest in his environment into a permanent and abiding sympathy and philosophy of life. I never knew an exclusive student of classics or philosophy who did not deplore his lack of touch with his own world. These common subjects are the natural, primary, fundamental, necessary subjects. Only as the child-mind develops should it be taken on long flights to extrinsic subjects, distant lands, to things far beyond its own realm; and yet, does not our geography teaching still frequently begin with the universe or with the solar system?

In the good time coming, geography will not begin with a book at all, as, in fact, it does not now with many teachers. It may end with one. It will begin with physical features in the very neighborhood in which the child lives--with brooks and lakes and hills and fields. Education should begin always with objects and phenomena. We are living in a text-book and museum age. First of all, we put our children into books, sometimes even into books that tell about the very things at the child's door, as if a book about a thing were better than the thing itself. So accustomed are we to the book-route that we regard any other route as unsystematic, unmethodical, disconnected. Books are only secondary means of education. We have made the mistake of considering them primary. This mistake we are rapidly correcting. As the book is relegated to its proper sphere, we shall find ourselves free to begin with the familiar end of familiar things.

Not only are we to begin with common objects and events, but with the child's natural point of contact with them. Start with the child's sympathies; lead him on and out. We are to develop the child, not the subject. The specialists may be trusted to develop the subject-matter and to give us new truth. The child is first interested in the whole plant, the whole bug, the whole bird, as a living, grooving object. It is a most significant fact that most young children like plants, but that most youths dislike botany. The fault lies neither in the plants nor in the youths. A youth may study cells until he hates the plant that bears the cells. He may acquire a technical training in cells, but he may be divorced from objects with which he must live, and his life becomes poorer rather than richer. I have no objection to minute dissection and analysis, but we must be very careful not to begin it too early nor to push it too far, for we are not training specialists: we are developing the power that will enable the pupil to get the most from his own life. As soon as the pupil begins to lose interest in the plant or the animal itself, stop!

There is still another reason for the study of the common things in variety: it develops the power to grasp the problems of the day and to make the man resourceful. A young man who has spent all his time in the schoolroom is usually hopelessly helpless when he encounters a real circumstance. I see this remarkably illustrated in my own teaching, for I have young men from the city and from farms. The farm boy will turn his hand to twenty things where the city boy will turn his to one. The farm boy has had to meet problems and to solve them for himself: this is sometimes worth more than his entire school training. Why does the farm boy make his way when he goes to the city?

It is no mere incident to one's life that he be able to think in the thought of his own time. Even though one expect to devote himself wholly to a dead language, in school he should study enough natural science and enough technology to enable him to grasp living problems. I fear that some institutions are still turning out men with mediæval types of mind.

Now, therefore, I come again to my thesis,--to the statement that the end and purpose of nature-study is to educate the young mind by means of the subjects within its own sphere, by appealing to its own sympathetic interest in them, in order that the person's life may be sweeter, deeper, and more resourceful. Nature-study would not necessarily drive any subject from the curriculum; least of all would it depreciate the value of the "humanities;" but it would restore to their natural and proper place the subjects that are related to the man. It would begin with things within the person's realm. If we are to interest children--or grown-ups, either, for that matter--we must begin by teaching the things that touch their lives. Where there is one person that is interested in philology, there are hundreds that are interested in engines and in wheat. From the educational point of view, neither the engine nor the wheat is of much consequence, but the men who like the engines and who grow the wheat are immeasurably important and must be reached. There are five millions of farms in the United States on which chickens are raised, and also thousands of city and village lots where they are grown. I would teach chickens. I would reach Men by means of the Old Hen.

How unrelated much of our teaching is to the daily life is well shown by inquiries recently made of the children of New Jersey by Professor Earl Barnes. Inquiries were made of the country school children in two agricultural counties of the State as to what vocation they hoped to follow. As I recall the figures, of the children at seven years of age 26 per cent desired to follow some occupation connected with country life. Of those at fourteen years, only 2 per cent desired such occupation. This remarkable falling off Professor Barnes ascribes in part to the influence of the teacher in the country schools, who is usually a town or city girl. The teacher measures everything in terms of the city. She talks of the city. She returns to the city at the end of the week. In the meantime, all the beauty and attractiveness and opportunity of the country may be unsuggested. Unconsciously both to teacher and pupil, the minds of the children are turned toward the city. There results a constant migration to the city, bringing about serious social and economic problems; but from the educational point of view the serious part of it is the fact that the school training may unfit the child to live in its normal and natural environment. It is often said that the agricultural college trains the youth away from the farm; the fact is that the mischief is done long before the youth enters college.

Let me give another illustration of the fact that dislike of country life is bred very early in the life of the child. In a certain rural school in New York State, of say forty-five pupils, I asked all those children that lived on farms to raise their hands; all hands but one went up. I then asked those who wanted to live on the farm to raise their hands; only that one hand went up. Now, these children were too young to feel the appeal of more bushels of potatoes or more pounds of wool, yet they had thus early formed their dislike of the farm. Some of this dislike is probably only an ill-defined desire for a mere change, such as one finds in all occupations, but I am convinced that the larger part of it was a genuine dissatisfaction with farm life. These children felt that their lot was less attractive than that of other children; I concluded that a flower garden and a pleasant yard would do more to content them with living on the farm than ten more bushels of wheat to the acre. Of course, it is the greater and better yield that will enable the farmer to supply these amenities; but at the same time it must be remembered that the increased yield itself does not arouse a desire for them. I should make farm life interesting before I make it profitable.

Of course, nature-study is not proposed merely as a means of keeping youth in the country; I have given these examples only to illustrate the fact that much of our teaching is unrelated to the circumstances in which the child lives--and this is particularly true of teaching in the rural schools. Nature-study applies to city and country conditions alike, acquiring additional emphasis in the country from the fact that what we call "nature" forms the greater part of the environment there. But the need to connect the child with itself is fundamental to all efficient teaching. To the city child the problems associated with the city are all-important; but even then I should give much attention to the so-called "nature subjects;" for these are clean, inspiring, universal. "Back to nature" is an all-pervading tendency of the time.

We must distinguish sharply between the purposes of nature-study and its methods. Its purposes are best expressed in the one word "sympathy." By this I do not mean sentimentalism or superficiality or desultoriness. The acquiring of sympathy with the things and events amongst which one lives is the result of a real educational process--a process as vital and logical and efficient as that concerned in educating the older pupil in terms of fact and "science." Nature-study is not "natural history," nor "biology," nor even elementary science. It is an attitude, a point of view, a means of contact.

Nature-study is not merely the adding of one more thing to a curriculum. It is not co-ordinate with geography, or reading, or arithmetic. Neither is it a mere accessory, or a sentiment, or an entertainment, or a tickler of the senses. It is not a "study." It is not the addition of more "work." It has to do with the whole point of view of elementary education, and therefore is fundamental. It is the full expression of personality. It is the practical working out of the extension idea that has become so much a part of our time. More than any other recent movement, it will reach the masses and revive them. In time it will transform our ideals and then transform our methods.

The result of all this changing point of view I like to speak of as a new thing. Of course, there is no education that is wholly new in kind; and it is equally true that education is always new, else it is dead and meaningless. But this determination to cast off academic methods, to put ourselves at the child's point of view, to begin with the objects and phenomena that are near and dear to the child, is just now so marked, and is sure to be so far-reaching in its effects, that I cannot resist the temptation to collect these various movements, for emphasis, under the title of the "new education."

"Nature-study" is another name for this new education. It is a revolt from the too exclusive science-teaching and book-teaching point of view, a protest against taking the child first of all out of its own environment. It is a product of the teaching of children in the elementary schools. The means and methods in nature-study are as varied as the persons who teach it. Most of the criticism of the movement--even among nature-study folk themselves--has to do with means and methods rather than with real ideals. We are now in the epoch when we should overlook minor differences and all work together for the good of a common cause. There is no one subject and no one method that is best.

While it is not my purpose to enter into any discussion of the methods of teaching nature-study, I cannot refrain from calling attention to what I believe to be some of the most serious dangers, (1) I would first mention the danger of giving relatively too much attention to mere subject-matter or fact. Nowhere should the acquiring of mere information be the end of an educational process, and least of all in nature-study, for the very essence of nature-study is spirit, sympathy, enthusiasm, attitude toward life. These results the youth gains naturally when he associates in a perfectly free and natural way with objects in the wild. Science-teaching has fallen short of its goal in the elementary schools--and even in the colleges and universities--by insisting so much on the subject-matter that the pupil is overlooked. In standing so rigidly for the letter, we have missed the spirit. President Eliot has recently called attention to this danger: "College professors heretofore have been apt to think that knowledge of the subject to be taught was the sufficient qualification of a teacher; but all colleges have suffered immeasurable losses as a result of this delusion." (2) A second danger is the tendency to make the instruction too long and too laborious. As soon as the child becomes weary of giving attention, the danger-point is reached; for thereafter there is loss in the spirit and enthusiasm, however much may be gained in dry subject-matter. I believe that even in high schools and colleges we make mistakes by demanding too long-continued application to one subject. Short, sharp, enthusiastic exercises, with pith and point, of five to ten minutes' duration, are efficient and sufficient for most purposes, particularly with beginners. (3) A third danger is the practice of merely telling or explaining. Set the child to work, and let the work be within his own realm. Pollen, lichens, capsules, lymphatics, integuments--these are not within the child's range; they smack of the museum and the text-book. Yet it appears to be the commonest thing to put mere children at the subject of cross-fertilization; they should first be put, perhaps, at flowers and insects. I wish that in every schoolroom might be hung the motto, "Teaching, not telling." (4) A fourth point I ought to mention is the danger of clinging too closely to the book habit; this I have already touched on. We are gradually growing out of the book slavery, even in arithmetic and grammar and history. This means a distinct advance in the abilities of the teacher. Of all subjects that should not be taught by the book, nature-study is chief. Its very essence is freedom from tradition and "method." I wish that there were more nature-study books; but they are most useful as sources of fact and inspiration, not as class texts. The good teacher of nature-study must greatly modify the old idea of "recitations." I wish to quote again from President Eliot: "Arithmetic is a very cheap subject to teach; so are spelling and the old-fashioned geography. As to teaching history in the old-fashioned way, anybody could do that who could hear a lesson recited. To teach nature-studies, geometry, literature, physiography, and the modern sort of history requires well-informed and skillful teachers, and these cost more than the lesson-hearers did." (5) Finally, we must come into contact with the actual things, not with museums and collections. Museums are little better than books unless they are regarded as secondary means. The museum has now become a laboratory. The living museum must come more and more into vogue,--living birds, living plants, living insects. The ideal laboratory is the out-of-doors itself; but for practical school purposes this must be supplemented. The most workable living laboratory of any dimensions is the school garden. The true school garden is a laboratory plat; time is coming when such a laboratory will be as much a part of a good school equipment as blackboards and charts and books now are. It will be like an additional room to the school building. Aside from the real school garden, every school premises should be embellished and improved as a matter of neighborhood and civic pride; for one cannot expect the child to rise above the conditions in which he is placed. All these dangers cannot be overcome by any "system" or "method;" they must be solved one by one, place by place, each teacher for himself. Whenever nature-study comes to be rigidly graded and dressed and ordered, the breath of life will be crushed from it. It is significant that everywhere mere "method" is giving way to individualism.

In time, the methods of teaching nature-study will crystallize and consolidate around a few central points. The movement itself is well under way. It will persist because it is vital and fundamental. It will add new value and significance to all the accustomed work of the schools; for it is not revolutionary, but evolutionary. It stands for naturalness, resourcefulness, and for quickened interest in the common and essential things of life. We talk much about the ideals of education; but the true philosophy of life is to idealize everything with which we have to do.

LEAFLET III.

AN APPEAL TO THE TEACHERS OF NEW YORK STATE.[4]

BY L. H. BAILEY.

[4] Supplement to Home Nature-Study Course, March, 1904. (Vol. V, No. 6.)

[Illustration]

The kernel of modern educational development is to relate the school-training to the daily life. Much of our education is not connected with the conditions in which the pupils live and is extraneous to the lives that they must lead. The free common schools are more recent in development than universities, colleges and academies and they are even yet essentially academic and in many ways undemocratic. They teach largely out of books and of subjects that have little vital relation with things that are real to the child. The school work is likely to be exotic to the pupil. The child lives in one world, and goes to school in another world.

Every subject has teaching-power when put into pedagogic form. The nearer this subject is to the child, the greater is its teaching power, other conditions being comparable; and the more completely does it put him into touch with his environment and make him efficient and happy therein. In time, all subjects in which men engage will be put in form for teaching and be made the means of training the mind. The old subjects will not be banished, but rather extended; but the range of subjects will be immensely increased because we must reach all people in terms of their daily experience. How all these subjects are to be handled as school agencies, we cannot yet foresee, nor is it my purpose now to discuss the question; but it is certain that the common things must be taught. And the common subjects are as capable of being made the means of developing the imagination and the higher ideals as are many of the traditional subjects.

[Illustration: _Fig. 1. Junior Gardeners beginning the work of cleaning up a New York school ground._]

Great numbers of our people are in industrial and agricultural environments. By means of the industrial and agricultural trades they must live. These trades must be made more efficient; and the youth must be educated to see in them more than a mere livelihood. These industrial and agricultural subjects must be put more and more into schools. My own interest lies at present more with the agricultural subjects, and these are the occasion for this appeal. The so-called "industrial" and commercial subjects have already been put into schools with good effect: the agricultural subjects now must come within the school horizon.

Probably one million and more of the people of New York State live on farms. This is approximately one in seven of our entire population. Moreover, every person is interested in the out-of-doors and in the things that grow therein. The future agricultural efficiency of New York State will depend on the school training more than on any other single factor; and on the agricultural efficiency of the State will depend, to an important extent, its economic supremacy. New York is the fourth State in total agricultural wealth, being exceeded only by Illinois, Iowa and Ohio. All the country children should be reached in terms of the country. Most of our school books are made for the city and town rather than for the country. The problem of the development of the rural school is the most important single educational problem now before us; and it is essentially an agricultural problem.

[Illustration: _Fig. 2. Junior Gardeners at work in a New York school ground. The grounds are now ready for planting. The mail carrier now calls and the pupils take the mail home._]

My appeal, therefore, is to every teacher in New York State, whether in country or city--for the city teacher makes public opinion, helps to set educational standards, and many of the country children go to school in the cities. I do not wish to press agriculture into the schools as a mere professional subject, but I would teach--along with the customary school work--the objects and phenomena and affairs of the country as well as of the city. The schools lead away from the country rather than towards it. All this I do not regard as a fault of the schools, but merely as a limitation due to the fact that the schools are still in process of evolution. It requires time to adapt a means to an end, and the schools are not to be criticised. But we must do our best to hasten the evolution. Schools, colleges and universities have only begun to reach the people effectively: these institutions must eventually touch every vital and homely problem, for they are to be the controlling factors in our civilization. Any subject that is worthy a person's attention out of school is also worthy his attention in school.

[Illustration: _Fig. 3. Sugar beets and a fourteen-year-old experimenter. (Supt. Kern, Illinois.)_]

I heard a good story the other day of an occurrence of many years ago illustrating the fact that school training may be wholly exotic to the pupil. The story was told in Ogdensburg, and Heuvelton is near by. The class in geography was on exhibition, for there were visitors. The questions were answered quickly: "How far is it from Rome to Corinth?" "From Rome to Constantinople?" "From Paris to Rome?" A visitor was asked whether he had any questions to propound. He had one: "How far is it from Heuvelton to Ogdensburg?" No one answered; yet the visitor said that none of the pupils would be likely to go from Rome to Constantinople, but that every one of them would go from Heuvelton to Ogdensburg.

Not only must the school teach in terms of its own environment, but more and more it must become the intellectual and social center of the neighborhood or district. Every modern rural school building should be attractive enough to induce clubs of many kinds to hold meetings in it. In the old "lyceum" days the school house was an important gathering place. These days are mostly past, but better days should be coming: the school should connect at every point with the life of the community. Any event, however small, that centers the attention of the people at the school house is a beginning and is worth while. A year ago the children and teacher in one of our district schools began the work of "cleaning up" the premises. The picture (Fig. 1) shows them at work. Later, when the grounds were renovated and ready for the planting, boxes were placed for the reception of the mail for those who do not live on the carrier's route: this is the beginning of a centering of attention at the school house. I think that the boxes might have been more attractive and perhaps better placed, but this will come in time: a beginning has been made. When once the people of any community come to think of the school house as a meeting-place for old folks as well as for children, what may we not expect of the rural school? We need adult education as well as juvenile education.

I have now no course of study to propose for agricultural or country-life subjects in the schools, but I would like to know how many teachers in the State desire to take up certain work of this nature as an experiment. The College of Agriculture will be glad to suggest the kind of work, if need be. The western states are undertaking this work: we must not be behind. It is endorsed by Superintendent Skinner, as will be seen from the letter published at the close of this pamphlet.

To be effective and meaningful, this work should deal directly with the things,--handling the things, studying the things, learning from the things. This is nature-study. To commit to memory something about things is of little consequence. We are too closely committed to books. We are often slaves to books. Books are only secondary or incidental means of educating, particularly in nature-study subjects. We have known the book-way of educating for so long a time that many of us have come to accept it as a matter of course and as the only way. A New York school man recently told me an incident that illustrates this fact singularly well. In the Cattaraugus Indian Reservation he opened a school in which at first he employed only manual-training and nature-study work. Soon one of the children left school. The teacher sought the mother and asked why. The mother replied that there was no use in sending the child to school because the teacher had given it no books to study. So slavishly have we followed the book-route that even the Indian accepts it as the only road to schooling!

[Illustration: _Fig. 4. Prize corn and a ten-year-old experimenter in one of Supt. Kern's districts, Illinois.]_

SCHOOL-GARDENS.

Many lines of work might be suggested for an occasional period. Perhaps the best one for spring is a school-garden. In time, every good school will have its garden, as it now has charts and blackboards and books. A school-garden is a laboratory-room added to the school house. It may be five feet square or ten times that much. The children prepare the land,--lessons in soils, soil physics; sow the seed,--lessons in planting, germination, and the like; care for the plants,--lessons in transplanting, struggle for existence, natural enemies, conditions that make for the welfare of the plants. The older pupils may be organized into experiment clubs, as they are being organized in parts of Illinois (see article on "Learning by Doing," by Supt. O. J. Kern, Review of Reviews, Oct., 1903, p. 456). We can help you in this school-gardening work.

[Illustration: _Fig. 5. "Learning by doing." A new kind of school work in Illinois, under the direction of Supt. Kern._]

OTHER WORK.

If not school-gardens, take up other lines of work,--study the school premises, the nearby brook or field, an apple tree, or any other common object or phenomenon. If there is any special agricultural industry in the neighborhood, discuss it and set the pupils at work on it. Any of these common-day subjects will interest the children and brighten up the school work; and the pursuit of them will teach the children the all-important fact that so few of us ever learn,--the fact that the commonest and homeliest things are worthy the best attention of the best men and women.

IMPROVING THE SCHOOL GROUNDS.

Just now, the improving of school grounds is a pressing subject. As a preliminary to the actual improving of the grounds, suppose that the following problems were set before the pupils:

1. _Exercises on the Grounds._

1. _Area._--Measure the school grounds, to determine the lengths and widths. Draw an outline map showing the shape. The older pupils may compute the square surface area. The distances may be compared, for practice, in feet, yards and rods. (Arithmetic.)

[Illustration: _Fig. 6. Using the Babcock milk test at Professor Hollister's School, Corinth, N. Y._]

2. _Contour._--Is the area level, or rough, or sloping? Determine how great the slope is by sighting across a carpenter's level. In what direction does the ground slope? Is the slope natural, or was it made by grading? The older pupils may draw a cross-section line, to a scale, to show what the slope is. (Geography.)

3. _Fences._--What parts of the area are fenced? What kind of fence? Total length of fence? Give opinion whether this fence is needed, with reasons. Is the fence in good repair? If not, what should be done to remedy it? (Arithmetic, language.)

4. _Soil._--What is the nature of the soil--clay, sand, gravel, field loam? Was subsoil spread on the surface when the grounds were graded? Is the soil poor or rich, and why do you think so? Is it stony? What can be done to improve the soil? (Geography, language.)

5. _Ground cover._--What is on the ground--sod or weeds, or is it bare? What do you think would be the best ground cover, and why? (Geography, language.)

6. _Trees and bushes._--How many trees and bushes are there on the ground? Were they planted, or did they come up of themselves? Make a map showing where the principal ones are. Name all the kinds, putting the trees in one list and the bushes in another. Do any of the trees need pruning, and why? State whether any of them have been injured or are unhealthy. (Geography, language.)

7. _Tenants._--What animals live or have lived on the school premises? What birds' nests do you find (these may be found in winter)? Hornets' nests? Perhaps you can find cocoons or egg-masses of insects in winter, and the active insects themselves in spring and fall. What birds visit the place? Do rabbits or mice or moles or frogs inhabit the premises? (Geography, language.)

8. _Natural features._--Describe any strong natural features, as rocks, ponds, streams, groves. What views do you get from the school grounds? (Geography, language.)

2. _Exercises on the School Structures._

9. _Buildings._--How many buildings are on the grounds, including sheds, etc.? Give the sizes in lengths and widths. Brick or wood? Color? Make a map or chart showing the position of these structures, being careful to have the buildings properly proportioned with reference to the entire area. (Language, geography.)

10. _Repairs needed._--Describe what condition the structures are in. Tell whether repairs are needed on foundations, side walls, roof, belfry, chimney, steps, doors, windows, paint. (Language.)

11. _Flag pole._--Where is your flag pole? Could it be in a better place? How tall is it above ground? How much in diameter at the base? What kind of wood? Painted? How deep in the ground? When was it put up? What repairs does it need? (Language.)

3. _General Exercises._

12. _History._--When was the land set aside for a school? When was the school house built? Who built it? (History, language.)

13. _Cost._--Try to find out what the land cost. What the building cost. Are they worth as much now? (History, language.)

14. _Government._--Determine what officers have general control of the school. How did they come to be officers? How long do they hold office? What are the duties of each? Determine whether your school receives any aid from the State. (Government.)

15. _Improvement._--Tell what you think should be done to improve the school grounds and the school structures. (Language.)

16. _Photographs._--The teacher or some pupil should photograph the school premises, and send the picture to us. We want at least one picture of every rural school house and grounds in the State. Even a very poor photograph is better than none.

_Experiment Garden._--Every school ground should have at least one small plat on which the children can grow some plant that is useful in that community. Just now alfalfa is demanding much attention from farmers, and it is certain soon to become a very important farm crop in New York State. It is used for pasturage and for hay. When once established, it lives for years. It is allied to clover and is a handsome plant for any school grounds. Will not the teacher suggest to the children that they make an alfalfa bed along one side of the school grounds? It will be attractive and will teach many lessons to pupils and parents even if it is only a few square feet in size. We want to put an alfalfa plat on every rural school ground in the State. _We will supply the seed free._ Alfalfa is easy to grow if only a few essential principles are kept in mind. We will send full directions to any one who applies. From year to year we will give nature-study lessons on these alfalfa plats.

We are anxious to start work of the above kind. It can be done at any time of the year. We are already in touch with more than 400 school grounds, but we want to reach every rural school ground in the State. _Will not the teacher send to us the best piece of work done by any pupil in any of the foregoing sixteen problems?_ These papers we will file, as showing the conditions of the premises of the particular school. They will enable us to see the progress that is being made from year to year in the improvement of your school premises. They will also enable us better to give advice, when called upon to do so. Sometimes we can send to the particular school a man to give advice on the spot. Sending the best reports to the University will be a reward to the most diligent pupils. Send all reports to John W. Spencer, Nature-Study Bureau, Ithaca, N. Y.

We desire to put in the rural school houses of the State some good pictures of country and farm scenes. These pictures will be artistic reproductions of meritorious photographs, and large enough to hang on the walls of the school room. With each picture will be sent instructions for framing in order to make the picture more attractive. We shall choose eight such pictures for distribution the present school year. _We will send one of these pictures free to any rural school in the State that takes up two of the problems given above; and all of them to schools that take up the sixteen problems._ We expect to publish lists of all schools, with teachers' names, that take up this work in improving the premises of rural schools.

[Illustration: _Fig. 7. Junior Naturalists making ready for planting. Tompkins Co., N. Y._]

To one who is not teaching in the public schools, all this work seems to be simple enough. Such persons are likely to be impatient that more rapid progress is not made in introducing agricultural and common-life subjects into the schools. But the teacher knows that all this work requires patience and skill. It cannot as yet be forced into the schools and still retain spontaneity and vitality. It must come gradually, and prove itself as it goes. Probably all public school teachers are now agreed that the schools should be put closely in line with the life of their various communities. The questions now to be solved are chiefly those of means and methods, and of arousing the school constituencies to the new points of view. A full and free discussion of the whole subject is now needed. The time is hardly yet ripe for very definite courses of study in these new fields. Many schools are already teaching these new subjects with entire success: these schools can serve the cause by making their experience public.

LETTERS ON THE SUBJECT.

[Illustration: _Fig. 8. Junior Gardeners at work in one of the New York Schools._]

However, this circular is merely an appeal. It is an inquiry for suggestions and co-operation. I desire to know what can be accomplished in the schools of New York State in the direction of inspiring and useful work for children that live in the country or are interested in the country. I am sure that something needs to be done: just what is most feasible and best the teachers must largely determine. As further suggestions, I append two letters from New York teachers:

_From A. M. Hollister, Principal of the Corinth Public Schools, Saratoga Co., N. Y._

"I am sending you under separate cover a picture of my class at work with the Babcock test machine (Fig. 6). We have used the machine both as a means of instruction in physics and chemistry and as a general demonstration before the different classes in the school. It beautifully illustrates some very important principles of physics and chemistry. The most marvellous effect, however, has been shown in the quality of the milk sold in the village. Milk was sold showing a test as low as 2.9 per cent butter fat. Almost as soon as the first testing was reported, the milk showed 3.8 per cent butter fat. Milk has been sent to the school from a number of dairymen with request for a test on particular cows that the parties might base their purchases of cows on the results of the test.

"In regard to the gardening with some of our boys, I would say that both boys and parents are much interested in the subject. We shall doubtless start about forty gardens of one-tenth acre each. The boys are to keep an exact account of all expenses to study methods, and to do all the work. I am anticipating results in a number of directions. The boys will be given something to do and to interest themselves in, which of itself is an important thing for a village boy. It will also develop a power of observation and ingenuity. We wish to get all the information we can on potato, tomato and squash culture. Other things will be suggested during the winter."

_Approval of the Superintendent of Public Instruction._

(_Published by permission._)

"For many years I have been making earnest efforts to induce teachers, pupils and patrons to improve and beautify the school buildings and school surroundings of our State. Some progress has been made, but much remains to be done.

"I heartily welcome the coöperation of every agency which can contribute to this result. We must interest parents and teachers in this work, but to obtain the best results I have always found that we must first interest the children. Once a spirit of enthusiasm is awakened in the children, it is easy to keep them interested and busy.

"I have long appreciated the earnest assistance of representatives of Cornell University in arousing the interest of pupils, and I heartily commend the plan outlined by the College of Agriculture to make a study of the schoolhouse and school grounds a practical part of the daily education of the child. A child's surroundings have much to do with his education. The result of such systematic study as is suggested must surely be a steadily increasing determination to remedy defects and correct any evil which may exist. When the attention of children is directed to existing conditions which bring discomfort, it will not be difficult to induce them to devise ways and means to improve matters.

"I shall watch the result of your efforts with deep interest, and stand ready to coöperate with you in every way.

"Very sincerely yours,

"CHARLES R. SKINNER,

"ALBANY, _Dec._ 17, 1903.

_State Superintendent._"

LEAFLET IV.

WHAT IS AGRICULTURAL EDUCATION?[5]

BY L. H. BAILEY.

[5] Cornell Countryman, June, 1904.

Agricultural education has made great progress within the past few years. Methods are crystallizing and at the same time the field is enlarging. We once thought of agricultural education as wholly special or professional, but we now conceive of it as an integral part of general and fundamental educational policy. As a college or university subject it is necessarily technical and semi-professional; but college work must articulate with the common-school work, as language and science now articulate with the schools. That is, agricultural subjects are now to be considered as a part of primary and secondary school work, leading naturally to special work in the same subjects for those who desire technical training. In the schools the subjects are to be treated non-professionally, as primary means of educating the child. The reason for using these subjects as means of educating lies in the principle that the child should be educated in terms of its own life rather than wholly in subjects that are foreign to its horizon and experience. It is most surprising that, while the theory of education is that the person shall be trained into efficiency, we nevertheless have employed subjects that have little relation to the individual child's effectiveness.

Not long since my father showed me a letter that he received from a school girl in 1851. It read as follows: "I seat myself expressly for the purpose to finish this letter which has been long begun. I go to school room to Mr. Wells and study parsing mental Philosophy grammar and penciling." This sounds as if it came from "The Complete Letter-Writer." This person lived on a farm. She lives on a farm to this day. Her parents and grandparents lived on a farm. The family had no expectation of living elsewhere than on a farm. Yet, in her entire school life, I presume there was not a single hour devoted to any subject directly connected with the farm or with the country. If her studies touched life in any way that she could comprehend, it was probably in habits of thought of the city and of the academician rather than in anything that appealed to her as related to the life she was to lead. It is small wonder that the farm has been devoid of ideals, and that the attraction has been to leave it. The direction of the stream determines the course of the river.

The future course of education will develop many means of training the child mind. Heretofore these means have been few and the result has been narrow. We shall see agricultural, commercial, social subjects put into pedagogic form and be made the agencies whereby minds are drawn out. These will be at least as efficient as the customary methods that we happen thus far to have employed. How much of one or how much of another is a detail that must be left to the future. Nor does it follow that the old-time subjects are to pass away. They will be an important part of the system, but not the whole system. These new subjects are now coming into the schools as rapidly, perhaps, as they can be assimilated. It is a general feeling that our schools already are overcrowded with subjects; and this may be true. The trouble is that while we are introducing new ideas as to subjects, we are still holding to old ideas as to curriculums and courses of study. We will break up our schools into different kinds; we will employ more teachers; we will not endeavor to train all children alike; we will find that we may secure equal results from many kinds of training; we will consider the effect on the pupil to be of much greater importance than the developing of the particular subject that he pursues; there are many men of many minds; some system will be evolved whereby individual capabilities will be developed to the full; the means will be related to the pupil: one of the factors will be subjects making up the environment of the pupil that lives in the country.

My plea, therefore, is that agricultural and country life subjects become the means of educating some of the pupils of at least some of the schools. To be sure, we have already introduced "natural science" into many of the schools, but, for the most, part, this has worked down from the college and, necessarily, it usually stops at the high school. We need something much more vital for the secondary schools than science as commonly taught. The great nature-study movement is an expression, as yet imperfect, of the feeling that there should be some living connection between the school life and the real life.

A college of agriculture, therefore, is as much interested in the common schools as a college of arts and sciences is. It should be a part of a system, however informal that system may be, not an establishment isolated from other educational agencies. But even as a college it will reach more persons than it has ever reached in the past. In any self-sustaining commonwealth it is probable that one-third of the people must be intimately associated with the soil. These people need to be as well-trained as those who follow the mechanic trades or the professions. It is immensely difficult to put these agricultural subjects into teachable form and to reach the agricultural people in a way that will mean much to them, because agriculture is a compound of many wonderfully diverse trades in every conceivable kind of natural conditions. Nor can one institution in each large state or province hope eventually to reach all these people, any more than one institution can reach all those who would best be taught in terms of books. But there must be at least one institution that is well equipped for the very highest kind of effort in these fields; Congress long ago recognized this fact in the establishment of the land-grant colleges, and all persons who are informed on agricultural education also now recognize it. The agricultural colleges have been handicapped from the first for lack of funds. It is now coming to be recognized that the highest kind of effort in these colleges cannot be sustained on a farm that pays for itself nor by means that are copied from the customary college work in "humanities" and "science." If it is to be efficient, agricultural education of a university grade is probably more expensive to equip and maintain than any other kind of education.

Once it was thought that the agricultural college should be wholly separate from any "classical" institution. The oldest of the existing American agricultural colleges, the Michigan institution, is established on this principle. So are the Massachusetts, Iowa and Pennsylvania colleges and a number of others. It is natural that this should have been the feeling in the original movement for the establishment of these colleges, for the movement was itself a protest and revolt from the existing education. Time, however, has put agricultural subjects on an equal pedagogical plane with other subjects, and there is no more reason why the agriculture should be segregated by itself than that the architecture or law or fine arts should be. The agricultural colleges connected with universities are now beginning to grow rapidly. This is illustrated in the great development of the agricultural colleges at the universities in Illinois, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Nebraska, Missouri, Ohio, and elsewhere. It was once thought that the agricultural student would be "looked down upon" in a university or in a college with other departments. This was once true. It was true once, also, of the student in natural science and mechanic arts. Pioneers are always marked men. The only way to place agricultural students on an equality with other students is to place them on an equality.

These remarks are made in no disparagement of the separate agricultural colleges, but only to illustrate the character of the growth of agricultural education. No doubt the separate colleges blazed the way. They stand for an idea that we would not like to dispense with. Every state and territory has one college founded on the land grant, and in the Southern states there are two, one for the whites and one for the blacks; in nearly half of the states these colleges are separate institutions. But the fact remains that the college connected with the university is to have the broader field in the future. Its very connection dignifies it and gives it parity. It draws on many resources that the separate college knows not of, unless, indeed, the separate college develops these resources for itself. The tendency, therefore, is for every ambitious separate college to develop the accessory resources, in the way of equipment in general science, literature, the arts; for agricultural education is constantly coming to be of a higher grade. The separate agricultural and mechanical colleges are rapidly becoming essentially industrial universities, giving general training but with the emphasis on the technical subjects.

It is strange how far this principle of education by isolation has been carried in the development of the agricultural colleges. Not only have the colleges been separated from other educational enterprises, but in many cases they have been planted far in the open country, partly on the theory that the farm boy, of all others, should be removed from temptation and from the allurements of other occupations. It was the early theory, also, that the agricultural student must be compelled to do manual labor in order that he be put in sympathy with it and that his attention be isolated from tendencies that might divert him from farming. These methods seem to have rested on the general theory that if you would make a man a farmer you must deprive him of everything but farming. It would be interesting to try to estimate how much this general attitude on the part of the agricultural colleges was itself responsible for the very inferiority of position that the agricultural student was supposed to occupy. This attitude tended to maintain a traditional class distinction or even to create such a distinction. Agricultural education must be adapted to its ends; but it must also be able to stand alone in competition with all other education without artificial props. It is no longer necessary that the agricultural student wear blinders.

On the other hand, the farm point of view must be kept constantly before the student, as the engineering point of view is kept before the student in a college of civil engineering; but we are coming to a new way of accomplishing this. Mere teaching of the sciences that underlie agricultural practice will not accomplish it; nor, on the other hand, will drill in mere farm practice accomplish it. It is not the purpose of an agricultural college to make men farmers, but to educate farmers. We are not to limit the student's vision to any one occupation, but to make one occupation more meaningful and attractive than it has ever been before. From the farmer's point of view a leading difficulty with the college course is that it sometimes tends to slacken a man's business energy. One cannot at the same time pursue college studies and commercial business; and yet farming is a business. In a four years' course some students are likely to incur certain habits of ease that are difficult to overcome upon their return to the farm. How much this is a fault of the courses of instruction and how much a personal equation of the student is always worth considering. But if this is a fault of college work it is generic and not peculiar to colleges of agriculture. Experience has now shown that a compulsory labor system is no preventive of this tendency, at least not with students of college and university age. Student labor is now a laboratory effort, comparable with laboratory work in medicine or mechanic arts. The mature student must have some other reason for laboring than merely a rule that labor is required. However, it is yet largely an unsolved problem with the agricultural colleges as to just how the stirring business side of farming can be sufficiently correlated with the courses of study to keep the student in touch and sympathy with affairs. With the passing of compulsory student labor there has no doubt been a reaction in the direction of too little utilization of the college farm in schemes of education; but we shall now get back to the farm again, but this time on a true educational basis.

Nothing is more significant of the development of the agricultural colleges than the recent splitting up of the professorships. From agricultural chemistry as a beginning, in one form or another, there have issued a dozen chairs, first one subject and then another being separated as a teachable and administrative entity. Even the word "agriculture" is now being dropped from the professorships, for this is a term for a multitude of enterprises, not for a concrete subject. Horticulture was one of the first protuberances to be lopped off; and even this must very soon be divided into its component parts, for there is little relationship between the effort that grows apples and that grows orchids or between the market garden and landscape gardening. Even the chair of agronomy, the newest department of the colleges, must soon be separated into its units. Forty years ago mechanic arts was undivided. Who then would have prophesied such professorships as experimental engineering, electrical engineering, marine engineering, railroad engineering, naval architecture, machine design? The progress of the dividing up of the mechanic arts and civil engineering marks the rate of our progress, in the terms of the Land Grant Act, "to promote the liberal and practical education of the industrial classes in the several pursuits and professions in life." All trades, classes and professions are to be reached with a kind of education that is related to their work. One by one we are reaching persons in all walks and all places. Socially, there are centuries of prejudice against the farmer. When education is finally allowed to reach him in such a way as to be indispensable to him, it will at last have become truly democratic.

In this spirit agriculture is divided into its teachable units. The lists of divisions of the teaching force or curriculum in the larger agricultural colleges illustrate this admirably. In Illinois, for example, the title of professors and instructors are associated with such divisions as thremmatology, agronomy, pomology, olericulture, floriculture, soil physics, dairy husbandry, dairy manufacture, horses, beef cattle, swine husbandry, farm crops. At Cornell the coördinate departments of instruction in the College of Agriculture are classified as agricultural chemistry, economic entomology, soils, agronomy, horticulture, animal husbandry with its sub-department of poultry husbandry, dairy industry, agricultural engineering and architecture, the farm home, rural economy and sociology, out-door art (including landscape gardening), nature-study for teachers, besides miscellaneous courses--making altogether thirteen divisions. The courses now offered in the Cornell College of Agriculture, not including the winter-courses, are 76, of which 71 are to be given in the next academic year. Nearly all these courses comprise a half-year's work.

While all this subdividing represents progress there are disadvantages attending it, because it tends to give a partial view of the subject. The larger number of farmers must engage in general "mixed husbandry" rather than in specialties. Farming is a philosophy, not a mere process. The tendency of the inevitable subdividing of the subjects is to force the special view rather than the general view, as if, in medicine, students were to become specialists rather than general practitioners. The farm-philosophy idea was represented by the older teachers of agriculture. Of these men Professor Roberts is a typical example, and his work in making students to be successful, all-around farmers is not yet sufficiently appreciated. Much of this farm philosophy is now coming into the courses of instruction under the titles of rural economy, rural economics, rural sociology and the like. I have sometimes thought that the time may come when we will again have professors of "agriculture" who will coördinate and synthesize the work of the agronomist, soil physicist, chemist, dairyman and others. However, the dividing has not yet worked any harm, and perhaps my fears are ungrounded; and it is certain that with increasing knowledge and specialization the courses of instruction must still further divide.

Another most significant development in agricultural education is the change in attitude towards the college farm. Once it was thought that the college estate should be run as a "model farm." However, a farm that sets a pattern to the farmer must be conducted on a commercial basis; yet it is manifest that it is the province of a college to devote itself to education, not primarily to business. A farm cannot be a "model" for all the kinds of farming of the commonwealth; and if it does not represent fairly completely the agriculture of the state, it misses its value as a pattern. At all events the pattern-farm idea is practically given up. It is then a question whether the farm shall be used merely to "illustrate,"--to display kinds of tools, examples of fences and fields, breeds of stock. This conception of the college farm is comparable with the old idea of "experiments" in agricultural chemistry: the teacher performed the experiments for the students to see. The prevailing idea of the college farm is now (or at least, I think, soon must be) that it shall be used as a true laboratory, as the student in chemistry now works first-hand with his materials instead alone of receiving lectures and committing books. Is a student studying cattle? The herds are his for measurements, testing as to efficiency, studying in respect to heredity, their response to feeding, their adaptability to specific purposes, and a hundred other problems. Cattle are as much laboratory material for the agricultural student as rocks are for the geological student or plants for the botanical student. Technical books were once kept only in libraries; now they are kept also in laboratories and are laboratory equipment. College museums were once only for display; now they are also for actual use by the student. Barns are laboratories, to be as much a part of the equipment of a college of agriculture as shops are of mechanic arts. They should be in close connection with the main buildings, not removed to some remote part of the premises. Modern ideas of cleanliness and sanitation are bound to revolutionize the construction and care of barns. There is no reason why these buildings should be offensive. It was once thought that dissecting rooms and hospitals should be removed from proximity to other buildings; but we have now worked these laboratories integrally into the plans of colleges. Time has now come for a closer assembling of the college barns with the college classrooms. Likewise the entire farm is no doubt to be used in the future as a laboratory, at least in the institutions of university grade--except such part as is used for pure investigation and research. Where, then, shall the student go to see his model barn? To these farms themselves; here a stock farm; there a fruit farm; elsewhere a dairy farm. The shops in the colleges of mechanic arts have long since come to be true laboratories; they do not engage in railroading or manufacturing. They do not try to "pay their way;" if they do pay their way this fact is only an incidental or secondary consideration. A college of agriculture is a teaching institution: it must have equipment and laboratories.

It will be seen that the word "agriculture" has taken on a new and enlarged meaning. The farmer is not only a producer of commodities: he is a citizen, a member of the commonwealth, and his efficiency to society and the state depends on his whole outlook. Also his personal happiness depends on his outlook. He must concern himself not alone with technical farming, but also with all the affairs that make up an agricultural community: good roads, organizations, schools, mail routes, labor movements, rural architecture, sanitation, the æsthetic aspect of the country. One will be struck with the new signification of "agriculture" if he scan the titles of publications that issue from governmental agricultural departments, agricultural experiment stations, agricultural nature-study bureaus, agricultural colleges.

I cannot close this sketch without calling attention to the fact that the college of agriculture has obligations to the farmers of its commonwealth. The very fact that every college of agriculture in North America is supported by public funds imposes this obligation. Moreover, the colleges of agriculture and mechanic arts stand for true democratic effort, for they have a definite constituency that they are called upon to aid. It is desirable that as many persons as possible shall assemble at the college itself, but those who cannot go to college still have the right to ask for help. This is particularly true in agriculture, in which the interests are widely separated and incapable of being combined and syndicated. Thereupon has arisen the great "extension" movement that, in one way or another, is now a part of the work of every agricultural college. Education was once exclusive; it is now in spirit inclusive. The agencies that have brought about this change of attitude are those associated with so-called industrial education, growing chiefly out of the forces set in motion by the Land Grant Act of 1862. This Land Grant is the Magna Charta of education: from it in this country we shall date our liberties.

LEAFLET V.

SUGGESTIONS FOR NATURE-STUDY WORK.[6]

BY ANNA BOTSFORD COMSTOCK.

[6] Syllabus of Lectures: Nature-Study (Animal and Plant Life), Mrs. A. B. Comstock.

[Illustration]

Suggestions for nature-study must necessarily be more or less general. Nature-study should be a matter of observation on the part of the pupils. The teacher's part is to indicate points for observation and not to tell what is to be seen.

After the child has observed all that it is possible for him to see, the remainder of the story may be told him or may be read.

The objects of nature-study should be always in the teacher's mind. These are, primarily, to cultivate the child's power of observation and to put him in sympathy with out-of-door life.

Having these objects clearly in mind, the teacher will see that the spending of a certain amount of time each day giving lessons is not the most important part of the work. A great amount of nature-study may be done without spending a moment in a regular lesson. In the case of all the things kept in the schoolroom--_i. e._, growing plants, insects in cages and aquaria, tame birds and domestic animals--the children will study the problems for themselves. The privilege of watching these things should be made a reward of merit.

The use of nature-study readers should be restricted. The stories in these should not be read until after the pupils have completed their own observations on the subjects of the stories.

Stories about adventures of animals and adventures with animals may always be read with safety, as these do not, strictly speaking, belong to nature-study. They belong rather to literature and may be used most successfully to interest the child in nature.

Blackboard drawings and charts should be used only to illustrate objects too small for the pupil to see with the naked eye. The pupil must also be made to understand that the object drawn on the board is a real enlargement of the object he has studied with his unaided eye.

The use of a simple lens often contributes much interest to the work of observation. The compound microscope may be used to show some exceptionally interesting point, as the compound eyes of insects, the scales on the butterfly's wing, or the viscid thread of the spider. But this is by no means necessary. Nature-study work does not actually require the use of either microscope or lens, although the latter is a desirable adjunct.

The great danger that besets the teacher just beginning nature-study is too much teaching, and too many subjects. In my own work I would rather a child spent one term finding out how one spider builds its orb web than that he should study a dozen different species of spiders.

If the teacher at the end of the year has opened the child's mind and heart in two or three directions nature-ward, she has done enough.

In teaching about animals, teach no more of the anatomy than is obviously connected with the distinctive habits of each one; _i. e._, the hind legs of a grasshopper are long so that it can jump, and the ears of a rabbit are long so that it can hear the approach of its foes.

While it is desirable for the teacher to know more than she teaches, in nature-study she may well be a learner with her pupils since they are likely any day to read some page of nature's book never before read by human eyes. This attitude of companionship in studying with her pupils will have a great value in enabling her to maintain happy and pleasant relations with them. It has also great disciplinary value.

_Reasons for and against graded courses in nature-study._

The question whether there should be a graded course in nature-study is decidedly a query with two answers.

The reasons why there should not be a graded course, are:

1st. The work should be spontaneous and should be suggested each day by the material at hand. Mother Nature follows no schedule. She refuses to produce a violet one day, an oriole the next, and a blue butterfly on the third.

2d. A graded course means a hard and fast course which each teacher must follow whether or not her tastes and training coincide with it.

3d. There is no natural grading of nature-study work. A subject suited for nature-study may be given just as successfully in the first as in the fifth grade.

There is only one reason why a nature-study course should be graded, and that is so cogent that it outweighs all the reasons on the other side: the training of the grade teacher in nature-study is at present so limited in subject-matter that if the course were ungraded the same work would be given over and over in the successive grades until the pupils became utterly weary of it. To many a pupil in the lower grades to-day, nature-study means the sprouting of beans and peas and nothing more. As a matter of experience, we believe that after a nature-study subject is once studied it should be dropped entirely, the pupil should not again meet it in the schoolroom until he finds it in its respective science in the high school or college. On this account, we have been persuaded that a graded course, or at least a consecutive course, is necessary.

The following suggestions about grading the course are given with a hope of being helpful, and not because we believe that the courses indicated are necessarily the best courses possible. We have graded each subject so that a teacher may follow her own tastes and inclinations, and may not be forced to teach zoology when her interests are entirely with botany, or vice versa.

We have tried to give a distinctive trend to the observations for each year, and have suggested a line along which the work may be done.

As a matter of fact, however, the time to study any living thing is when you chance to find it. If you find an interesting caterpillar or cricket or bird, study it, whatever your grade of work. The probabilities are that it may be long before you chance upon these same species again.

It has been the experience of most teachers that the lower grades are much more interested in nature-study than are the higher. Especially are the seventh and eighth grades difficult to interest. Therefore, we have made this part of the course economic in its bearing, hoping that this may appeal to the grown-up feeling of pupils of these grades.

INSECTS.

FIRST GRADE.

The first year of work with insects may well be restricted to familiarizing the pupils with the three most striking phases in the life of insects with complete metamorphosis, _i. e._, the larvæ, the pupæ, and the winged insects. Moths and butterflies are especially adapted for this work with the small children.

_Fall work._--In September there are still many caterpillars feeding. Bring them in the schoolroom and feed them in breeding cages. For different forms of cheap breeding cages, see Insect Life, pp. 326-330; Cornell Teachers' Leaflet, No. 5 (No. XIX, this volume); Lessons in Nature-Study, p. 45.

During October many of the hairy caterpillars will be found hurrying along in quest of suitable winter quarters. These should be brought in and put in box cages having sand or dirt in the bottom. They are seeking secluded corners in which to curl up and hide during the cold weather. Some of them pass the winter in their cocoons, and some do not. Insect Life, pp. 239-241; Manual for Study of Insects, pp. 317-324; Moths and Butterflies, (_b_), pp. 191-198.

Bring in as many cocoons as possible. November or December, after the leaves have fallen from the trees, is the best time in which to hunt for the cocoons of _Cecropia_, _Promethea_, and _Cynthia_. Insect Life, pp. 194-196; Moths and Butterflies, (_b_), pp. 119-180.

Teach the pupils the difference between the cocoon and the pupa. The pupa is the quiescent form of the insect. The cocoon is the silken bag covering it, and is always made by the caterpillar before it changes to a pupa.

If possible bring in some butterfly larvæ. In September many may be found. The cabbage butterfly especially is always with us. Insect Life, p. 245. Also the larvæ of the black swallow-tail may be easily found. Insect Life, p. 243; Everyday Butterflies, p. 130; Moths and Butterflies, (_b_), p. 39.

Show the children (do not tell them) that the butterfly caterpillars do not make cocoons, but that the naked pupa is suspended by a silk button, and in some cases also by a silk thread.

Many teachers complain that but few of the moths are able to get out of the cocoons. The usual reason for this is that in the heated atmosphere of the schoolroom the cocoons become too dry. To obviate this, the cocoons should be dipped in water every week or two.

_Spring work._--During the spring term use the apple-tree tent-caterpillars. Cornell Teachers' Leaflet, No. 5 (No. XIX, this volume); Moths and Butterflies, (_b_) p. 201. Show the four stages of the insect: egg, caterpillar, pupa, and moth. Pay especial attention to the way in which the caterpillars grow.

_Summary of methods._--This whole year's work may be done with no regular "lessons," and all the time required will be the care of the breeding cages and the time given to hunting for the caterpillars and cocoons. The child's reading may be selected from the many stories of the caterpillars, moths and butterflies. Yet be very careful to make each child understand that he himself is studying out the especial story of each caterpillar and cocoon in the schoolroom.

SECOND GRADE.

The plan for the second year is to continue the study of the life-histories of insects. The pupil, having learned the different stages of the moths and butterflies, should learn that all insects do not experience such marvelous changes of form.

_Fall work._--Arrange a breeding cage like figs. 288, 289, Insect Life, p. 329, placing fresh sod in the flower pot and covering the lamp chimney with a square of wire netting. Push the glass chimney down into the earth so as to allow no crevices through which the insects may escape. In such a cage, place grasshoppers and crickets of all sizes, and study their growth. Insect Life, pp. 33-37.

Show the pupils that the young grasshopper looks like the old one except that the wings are shorter; the same is true of crickets. Keep the sod damp so the grass will not become dry; and when it gets too old replace it with other sod. A good way to keep these insects alive and to keep the children interested in them is to plant wheat and grass seed in several flower pots, and then to move the glass chimney from pot to pot, giving the insects fresh pasturage when needed.

As early as possible start some aquaria. Cornell Teachers' Leaflet, No. 11 (No. XII, this volume); Insect Life, pp. 330-332.

The mosquito is one of the most available insects for study in the aquarium. Insect Life, pp. 131-136; Lessons in Nature-Study, p. 12.

The nymphs of dragon flies and damsel flies and many others may be studied during the entire winter. Insect Life, pp. 140-142; Cornell Teachers' Leaflet, No. 11 (No. XII, this volume); Outdoor Studies, p. 54. Those that have cannibalistic habits should be kept apart, each one in a separate jar. They may be fed by dropping into the jar a bit of raw beefsteak tied to the end of a string. The purpose of the string is that the uneaten meat may be withdrawn before it decays. It should not be left in the water more than twenty-four hours. The insects do not need feeding more than twice a week.

_Spring work._--In the spring get new material for the aquaria. In pools where there are many dead leaves look for the caddice worms that build the log cabin cases, for these may be kept in aquaria that have no running water. Insect Life, p. 149.

While we advise the introduction of the aquaria during the second year, their use should be continued during the following four grades; there are always new things to study in ponds and streams, and nothing so fascinates a child as watching the movements of these little denizens of the water.

_Summary of methods._--There need be no set lessons in the work of the second year, unless the teacher in a few words, now and then, chooses to call attention to certain things as the occasion seems to demand. The object of the year's work is to teach the pupil the life histories of insects which have no quiescent or pupa stage, and this should be accomplished by simple observation of specimens bred in the schoolroom.

THIRD GRADE.

The general subject of this year's work may well be the Homes of Insects. This is a most interesting topic, and if well taught will inspire the pupils to much individual observation and collecting.

The questions to be asked concerning insect homes are:

Of what material are they made? How are they made? What is the purpose of the home? Is it made by the insect for itself to live in, or is it made by the mother for the protection of her young? Is it made as a protection for the insects while they are eating, or do they go out to feed and come back only to rest and spend the night or day?

_Fall work._--Leaf rollers: Insect Life, p. 206; Ways of the Six-Footed, p. 119.

Leaf miners: Insect Life, p. 208; Ways of the Six-Footed, p. 29.

Galls: Insect Life, p. 210; Outdoor Studies, pp. 18, 38-39.

Fall web worm: Insect Life, p. 200.

Scallop shell moth: Insect Life, p. 201.

Nests of silver spotted skipper: Insect Life, p. 203; Everyday Butterflies, p. 190.

Bag worms: Insect Life, p. 204. Ant lions: Outdoor Studies, p. 81.

Carpenter bees: Ways of the Six-Footed, p. 108.

Tiger beetle larvæ: Insect Life, pp. 270-272.

All kinds of cocoons are found by the children. Ask concerning the cocoons: Where did you find them? Were they in protected places? Why?

Of these nests there are many more than those mentioned above. In fact, to one who sees what he looks at, every plant, every tree, every fence corner and every foot along the country path contains many most interesting homes. The leaf rollers and leaf miners are the most common and most easily found of all.

_Spring work._--The spring work in this subject may be to study the way in which caddice worms make their houses; take a caddice worm out of its house and watch it build another. This is a new phase of the study of caddice worms. Ways of the Six-Footed, p. 133.

Study the homes of beetles under sticks and stones, and find the homes of the engraver beetles under bark. Insect Life, p. 216. This work must necessarily be done by the pupils out of school hours, and their discoveries and specimens of homes should be made topics for lessons for the whole school.

During this term begin a butterfly calendar, made on the same plan as the bird calendar. A collection of butterflies might be started for the schoolroom in connection with the calendar. Study the specimens caught and determine whether they hibernated as adults or chrysalids. If their wings are battered and torn, they spent the winter as adults. If they are bright in colors and their wings perfect, they spent the winter in the chrysalis state.

Hints for collecting insects: Cornell Teachers' Leaflet, No. 7 (No. XVIII, this volume); Insect Life, pp. 283-314 and pp. 48-49. How to Know the Butterflies.

_Summary of methods._--The work in the third grade, as outlined, requires a lesson period now and then when single specimens are brought in by individual pupils. Each pupil should examine the specimen, and after that the lesson may be given.

FOURTH GRADE.

After having studied Insect Homes, the pupils will be ready to take up the broader subject, How Insects Live. The work of this year may be given on this subject.

In order to study the life-histories of insects, the pupils should know some things about insect anatomy. If the work as indicated in the previous grades has been followed, the pupils know the number of legs, wings, and compound eyes most insects have, without ever having killed a specimen or having received a special lesson in insect anatomy. Now teach the children how insects breathe and how they eat. Show the spiracles on the body of any caterpillar which is not hairy; they may be seen on the abdomen of a grasshopper or of a butterfly that has not too many large scales to cover them.

After they have seen these spiracles or breathing pores, give a lesson, illustrated by chart or blackboard, showing that these holes lead to the breathing tubes of the body. Manual for the Study of Insects, pp. 73-75.

To show how insects eat, allow the pupils to watch the following insects in the breeding cages while feeding: a grasshopper; a leaf beetle (potato beetle is a good example); any caterpillar; an ant; and a wasp. Show that all these have mouth parts made for biting. Let the pupils see an aphid sucking the juice of a plant; this may be done by bringing in a twig infested by aphids. Let the pupils see the water bugs in the aquarium eat. Insect Life, pp. 123-131, and pp. 137-140. Let them watch a fly, a honey bee, and, if possible, a butterfly or moth, eat. All these have mouth parts made for sucking. All this work should be original investigation on the part of the pupils.

After the pupils find out how insects breathe and eat, let them see how each insect lives a life adapted to its own peculiar needs. Try to feed some cabbage worms on clover or grass. Then try turnip or mustard leaves, and watch the result. Change the potato beetle larvæ to some other plant, and watch the result.

Let the pupils first find out how the insects breathe in the water. Each insect in the aquarium tells a different story as to its way of getting air. The teacher will find all these stories indicated in the chapters in Insect Life devoted to pond and brook insects.

Call especial attention to protective coloring of insects. Show that when an insect resembles its surroundings in color it is thereby enabled to escape its enemies; or, if need be, is enabled to creep upon its prey unobserved.

Note the color of the grasshopper in the road; color of meadow grasshopper; color of the caterpillars of the cabbage butterfly (green and hard to find). Notice the shape and color of walking sticks; color of the katydids. Note the bright color of the larvæ of potato beetle. Why? (They are distasteful to birds, and their colors advertise the fact.) Study the Monarch butterfly and the Viceroy. Everyday Butterflies, p. 95 and p. 297; Ways of the Six-Footed, p. 39. Bring out strongly in all this work that the insect in order to live must have its special food plant and must escape notice of its enemies. This is the proper place to begin the study of the valuable work done by birds in destroying insects.

In addition to this general work, study especially the wasps.

Solitary Wasps: Mud daubers. Bring in their nests and examine them. Ways of the Six-Footed, p. 96. How are the nests provisioned, and for what purpose were they made? Find, if possible, nests of other solitary wasps. Insect Life, p. 218, p. 262, p. 264.

Social Wasps: Bring in a deserted nest of yellow-jackets. Of what is it made? How? What for? Do the wasps store honey? Do they live as a colony during the winter? All these questions may be answered by a pupil who knows of a yellow-jackets' nest in the fall and watches it during the winter. For the teacher there are discussions of these insects in Manual for Study of Insects, pp. 660-664. Wasps and their Ways.

Continue the butterfly collection and the butterfly calendar.

_Spring work._--In the spring, begin a collection of moths for the schoolroom. Insect Life, p. 50. Caterpillars and Moths.

In the spring, notice when the first house-flies appear. What happens to the house-fly in winter? (Send for Circular No. 35, second series, Div. of Entomology of Department of Agriculture, Washington, D. C., for the life-history of the house-fly.) Explain that one female destroyed early in the season means thousands fewer late in the season.

Encourage the children to bring to the schoolroom all sorts of flies and compare them with the house-fly. The object of this is to teach something of the wonderful variety of forms among small and inconspicuous insects. Make a collection of flies for the schoolroom. For description of flies, see Insect Life, pp. 83-84.

A good plan for the spring work is to keep the pupils interested in the first appearance, after the vicissitudes of winter, of each insect which it is possible for them to find. Note that insects do not appear before their food plants appear.

_Summary of objects and methods._--The questions to be answered during the whole year's work are: How do the Insects live,--on what do they feed? How do they escape their enemies? What happens to them in winter? How are the new broods started in the spring? The work is chiefly observation, but occasional lessons may be given and stories may be told to keep the interest in the work from flagging.

FIFTH GRADE.

_Fall work._--Study the Bees and Ants.

Fit up ants' nests. Insect Life, p. 278.

Teach the whole life-history by allowing the pupils to colonize the nests. Manual for Study of Insects, pp. 633-639; Insect Life, p. 271. Make observations upon the _eggs, pupæ, workers, males, females_. What are the winged forms that appear in swarms in June and July.

Let the pupils observe the relation of ants to aphids. This may be done on almost any shrub or roadside plant. Home Nature-Study Lesson 1904, No. 8.

The teacher should read Sir John Lubbock's "Ants, Bees and Wasps."

Many stories on these subjects may be told and read, especially those concerning the habits of exotic ants and ant wars which the children are not likely to see; also of the slave-making ants. These slave-making ants are quite common in New York State; their nests may be found under stones. They resemble the brown mound-builder ant; the slaves are black.

_Spring work._--In the spring work in this grade, study the habits of the honey bee. An observation hive is desirable but not necessary. Bring in the honeycomb filled with honey. If there are apiarists in your neighborhood, they will gladly give you specimens of brood in the comb. Read The Bee People and the Manual for Study of Insects, p. 673.

Develop all the facts of the wonderful life in the hive by letting the pupils observe them as far as possible. Then give them the many interesting stories:

Story of the Workers.

Story of the Queen.

Story of the Drone.

Story of the Bee Larva.

Story of Honey Making.

Story of Wax and Comb Making.

Story of the Swarm.

In connection with the study of the honey bee, study the bumble bee. Manual for Study of Insects, pp. 672-673; Insect Life, p. 256. Begin with the study of the big queen that appears in May or June. Show that she is of great benefit to us and must not be harmed or frightened. Let the bumble bee's nest be a problem for summer observation, and finish the study in the next grade in the fall.

_Summary of objects and methods._--The work of this year should have for its objects the harmonious life of social insects; their unselfish work for each other; their devotion to their respective colonies; their ways of building and of defending their habitations.

The work should be based upon observations made by the pupils in and out of the schoolroom. Many lessons should be given, mostly in the form of stories. Ways of the Six-Footed, pp. 55-94.

SIXTH GRADE.

_Fall work._--Study the spiders. Lessons in Nature-Study, p. 103; Insect Life, pp. 223-232. Cornell Teachers' Quarterly, final number (No. XV, this volume).

In order to study spiders, they need not be handled with bare hands. While all spiders are venomous to the same extent, perhaps, that a mosquito or a bee is venomous, there is only one species in the eastern United States (and that is very rare) the bite of which need be feared by human beings.

The use of spiders in nature-study does not have to do with handling living specimens, but rather with the habits of the different species and the building of the webs. In catching spiders to bring into the schoolroom, use the method indicated by Professor Kellogg in Nature-Study Lessons. Capture the specimen by the use of a pill box: take the box in one hand and the cover in the other, and catch the spider by suddenly closing the box over it.

The pupils should be made to observe the chief differences between spiders and insects; _i. e._, spiders have two regions of the body instead of three as in insects; eight legs instead of six, simple eyes instead of compound. Compare spiders with daddy-long-legs.

If the teacher chooses to kill a specimen and show the arrangement of the eyes and the spinnerets under the microscope, she may do so. This is not necessary, although I have seen it done successfully in the sixth grade. Diagrams and blackboard drawings may be used instead of the microscope.

Let the pupils observe the uses of silk by the spider:

1. Snare for prey. 2. To enwrap prey when first entangled. 3. Nests for eggs. 4. Lining for habitations. 5. Means of locomotion.

Introduce the grass spider into the schoolroom in glass jars containing grass sod, and let the pupils observe it at work.

Encourage a study of cobwebs. Capture the owner of an orb web, and bring it in a glass jar to the schoolroom. Try to give it its natural environment; _i. e._, some sort of frame or branch of tree on which it may fasten its web.

The orb web: 1. How is it made? 2. Of how many kinds of silk? 3. The way the spiral thread is arranged as shown by drawings. 4. The position of the spider on the web. 5. The way the spider passes from one side of the web to the other. 6. The way it treats its prey when the victim is once entangled.

The engineering ability shown in making this web is one of the most marvelous things in all the realm of animal life. These observations may well cover two months of this term.

Study the ballooning spiders, the jumping spiders, the running spiders, and the crab spiders. Study as many egg-sacs of spiders as possible.

Another topic for study during the fall term is the Songs of Insects. Insect Life, p. 235. Bring in the katydids, crickets, and meadow grasshoppers, place them in cages containing green sod, and observe them while they are singing. Note that only the males sing. Show the ears of the crickets, katydids, and meadow grasshoppers in the elbows of their front legs. The ear of the grasshopper is on the side of the segment of the abdomen next to the thorax. Ways of the Six-Footed, pp. 3-27.

Study snowy tree cricket. Manual for Study of Insects, p. 118.

If possible, get a cicada as these insects continue to sing through the warm days of September. Show the cover to the drums on the lower side of the common cicada. Cornell Nature-Study Bulletin, No. 1, p. 24 (No. VI, this volume). This can be made a most interesting subject, and pupils should be encouraged to do observation work outside of school.

Begin a general collection for schoolroom.

_Spring work._--Continue making a general collection for the schoolroom, and specialize in this direction. When an insect is brought in and added to the collection, if the teacher knows the insect, a lesson should be given on its life and habits. This connecting of the life and habits of the insects with the collection of dead specimens is of greater value from a nature-study point of view than the collection itself.

_Summary of methods._--While this year's work must be based on the observations of the pupils in the schoolroom and out-of-doors, yet many interesting lessons may be given by the teacher.

SEVENTH GRADE.

The study of this entire year may be the relation of insects to flowers. Most of the references are given in the Plant-life work for this grade.

The insect work may be limited to: What insects visit flowers? How do they carry pollen? How does each kind of insect reach the nectar? Which insects are robbers, and which are true pollen carriers? The use of pollen by insects. Outdoor Studies, pp. 7-12.

Take up the study of golden rod and its insect visitors, _i. e._, let the pupils watch a bunch of golden rod and note all the insect visitors. For directions concerning this work see Outdoor Studies, pp. 29-46.

In the same way take up the study of asters and the late flowers, and their insect visitors. Describe the visitor; what it does; what part of the plant it visits.

_Summary of objects and methods._--The object of this whole year's work is to show the beautiful inter-relation between insects and flowers. The studies must necessarily be made in the field. But many delightful lessons may be given on the structure of flowers, that make of greatest use to the flowers the work of insect visitors.

EIGHTH GRADE.

The object of this year's work is the economic side of insect-study. Many pupils do not continue these studies to high school or college. Yet if they have homes with gardens or trees in city or country, they must learn to cope with the many insect enemies that feed upon cultivated plants. They should also learn to discriminate between insect friends and foes. They should learn the best methods of combating the foes and preserving the friends.

Explain first that in fighting an insect enemy we must know how it eats. If it inserts its beak in the stem of the plant there is no use trying to kill it by putting poison on the leaves.

COMMON INSECT FOES.

To be studied in the schoolroom:

_Fall work._--Codlin-moth. Insect Life, p. 180. Show work on an apple, and give methods of destroying it.

Plum curculio. Insect Life, p. 182.

The pomace flies. Insect Life, p. 184.

Scale insects. Manual for Study of Insects, pp. 165-174.

Potato beetle. Manual for Study of Insects, p. 176.

_Spring work._--Tussock moths and canker worms. Circular No. 9, 2d Series, Dept. Agr., Div. of Ent., Washington, D. C.; Cornell Teachers' Circular, No. 1.

Cabbage worms. How to Know the Butterflies.

Currant worms. Manual for Study of Insects, pp. 613-614.

Plant lice or aphids. Insect Life, pp. 177-178.

Carpet beetle. Circular No. 5, 2d Series, Dept. Agr., Washington, D. C.; Manual for Study of Insects, p. 539.

Clothes moth. Manual for Study of Insects, pp. 257-258; Circular No. 36, 2d Series, Dept. Agr., Washington, D. C.

Tent caterpillar. Cornell Teachers' Leaflet, No. 5 (No. XIX, this volume).

A study of spraying should be made. Insects and Insecticides, pp. 39-56. Spray Calendar, distributed free by the Cornell Agricultural Experiment Station.

Important Insecticides. Farmers' Bulletin No. 127, Dept. Agr., Washington, D. C.

INSECT FRIENDS.

_Fall work._--Lady bugs. Insect Life, p. 179.

Aphis lions. Insect Life, p. 178; Ways of the Six-Footed, p. 125.

Red clover and the bumble bee.

Parasitic insects. Manual for Study of Insects, pp. 621-630.

_Spring work._--Bees and orchard in blossom.

_Summary of methods._--The observations may be made in the schoolroom or out-of-doors. There should be observations of experiments in spraying. This may be accomplished in most localities by encouraging the pupils to visit orchards undergoing the operation of spraying. However, by means of syringe or watering pot, the infested plants brought into the schoolroom may be sprayed and the results noted. Lessons should be given on the importance of preserving insect friends while we are destroying insect enemies.

OTHER ANIMALS ADAPTED FOR NATURE-STUDY.

_The Toad and Frog._ The study of either of these two species is delightful spring work for any grade. Cornell Teachers' Leaflet, No. 9 (No. XVI, this volume); Wilderness Ways, p. 25.

_Salamanders or Efts._ Familiar Life of the Roadside.

_Fishes._ Observations upon goldfish or minnows kept in an aquarium should be made the basis of lessons upon the life of fishes. Study: (1) The shape of the body; see how it is especially adapted to rapid movement through the water. (2) The shape and arrangement of the fins, and their uses. (3) How the fish propels itself through the water. (4) How the fish breathes. (5) The shape of the fish's mouth, and how and what it eats. (6) Experiment to ascertain the ability of the fish to see and hear. Cornell Teachers' Leaflet, No. 21 (Nos. XIII and XXXVI, this volume).

Encourage observations of habits of different species of fish common in our ponds and streams. Study their eggs and the places where they are found. Teach the children the reason for the game laws, and impress upon them a true respect for those laws. Food and Game Fishes.

_Mice._ Some house mice in an improvised cage may be placed in the schoolroom, and the habits of the little creatures observed. Give them paper to see how they make their nests. Note how and what they eat, and how they clean themselves. Note shape of teeth and their use. If possible, study the wild mice. Squirrels and Other Fur Bearers, p. 111; Wild Life, p. 171.

_Squirrels and Chipmunks._ The work on these animals must be based on out-of-door observations. Try to get the pupils to discover for themselves answers to the following questions: How and where do they travel? What do they eat? Where and how do they carry their food? Do they store it for winter? If so, where? What do they do in winter? Squirrels and Other Fur Bearers, p. 15, p. 134; Wild Neighbors, p. 1.

_Rabbits._--A domesticated rabbit should, if possible, be kept in the schoolyard so that the pupils may make their own observations upon its habits. Let them study: How and what it eats. The shape of its teeth. The form and use of the ears. How does it travel? What sort of tracks does it make, and why? From these observations lead the pupils to think of the life of the wild rabbit, how it is adapted to escape from its enemies and to get its food. Ways of Wood Folk, p. 41; Story of Raggylug.

_Guinea pigs._--These little animals are easily kept in the schoolroom, and, though not particularly interesting in their habits, they prove attractive to the smaller children and may be studied in the same way as the other animals.

_Domestic animals._--These need not be studied in the schoolroom, as the pupils, if they have opportunity, can make the observations at home. Studies of the horse, cow, pig, sheep, and goat, and also the cat and dog may be made most interesting. Such questions as these may be asked concerning each: What is the characteristic form of the animal? What is its clothing? What does it eat? How are its teeth adapted to its food? What is its chief use to man? How does it travel, slow or fast? How are its feet adapted to its way of running or walking? Has it a language? How many emotions can it express by sound? How many can it express by action? How does it fight, and what are its weapons? What sort of life did its wild ancestors live? How did they get their food, and how did they escape from their enemies?

_Summary of methods of nature-study of animals._--Study only so much anatomy as is clearly adapted to the animal's ways of living. Observations made by the pupils should be arranged into lessons by either pupil or teacher. Such lessons make excellent English themes, and they may be adapted to any grade.

BIRDS.

Begin the study of birds by the careful study of some domesticated species that may be observed closely and for a long period. The hen is perhaps the best for this purpose. Study carefully all of the adaptations of her anatomy to her life necessities. Study shape of her body; the feathers; the bill; her food; how she eats; drinks; the shape of her feet; their covering; how she sees; hears; smells; sleeps; study the life of a chick; study the language of chick, hen and cock; embryology of a chick. Study a robin or some bird that builds near houses. Note all its habits from the time it appears in spring until autumn.

Bird houses and bird protection. Usefulness of birds. Our Native Birds, Lange. Publications of U. S. Dept. Agr.

_Summary of methods._--It is much more important that the pupil know the habits of one species than that he should know by name many species. Therefore encourage patient watching and careful observation concerning the things which birds do. Such observations may be made into lessons by pupil or by teacher for the benefit of all the pupils. First Book of Birds, and Second Book of Birds; Bird Lore; The Story of the Birds; Bird Neighbors.

PLANTS.

FIRST GRADE.

_Fall term._--Let the children study the different forms and the colors of leaves. By no means teach the botanical terms for all the shapes of leaves; simply let the children gather and bring in all the different kinds of leaves they can find. Let them draw the different forms in their blank books. Press leaves and mount them.

The object of this work is to give the child an idea of the great number of leaf forms and colors, and to get him interested in observing them. References: Botany, Bailey, pp. 90-100; Lessons with Plants, pp. 79-90; Gray's How Plants Grow, chapter on Leaves and Forms of Leaves; Elements of Botany, pp. 89-93.

_Winter and spring terms._--Let the children study vegetables. The following questions should be answered concerning a vegetable. What part of the plant is it? Does it grow below or above ground? What sort of leaf has it? What sort of flower? What sort of fruit or seed? Lessons with Plants, pp. 353, 356, 364; First Studies, pp. 50, 51, 174; Botany, Bailey, pp. 31-37; Cornell Teachers' Quarterly, No. 7 (No. XXXIX, this volume).

SECOND GRADE.

Teach the use of the flower. Do this by bringing in all flowers possible, and show that as the flower fades the fruit becomes evident. Let the pupils observe for themselves the fact that the flower exists for the sake of the fruit. Interest the pupils in all kinds of fruits and seeds. This is not the place to teach seed dispersion, but simply the forms and colors of fruits and seeds. Let the pupils also observe that insects carry pollen from flower to flower. Do not give the explanation of this to children of this age, but let them see the bees at work.

For this work see Plant World, by Mrs. Bergen, pp. 80-107.

Let the pupils observe the following things in plant physiology:

Flowers sleep: Botany, Bailey, p. 50; Lessons with Plants, p. 402; Plants, Coulter, pp. 9, 10, 48; Elements of Botany, p. 98.

Plants turn toward the light: Elements of Botany, p. 100; Botany, Bailey, p. 50; First Studies, p. 136.

Effect of frost on flowers and leaves.

_Winter and spring work._--Seed germination: First Studies, pp. 1-24; Lessons with Plants, pp. 316-331; Botany, Bailey, pp. 164-171; Cornell Teachers' Leaflet, No. 1 (No. XXVIII, this volume); Plants, p. 307; Lessons in Nature-Study, p. 22.

Let the pupils observe in the field: Position of leaves when first open. A Reader in Botany, by Newell, Part I, p. 84.

Position of leaves and flowers in the rain. First Studies, p. 135; Elements of Botany, pp. 175-176; Plants, p. 51.

THIRD GRADE.

_Fall work._--The fall work of this grade may be (1) The way flowers make fruit, _i. e._, the way the fruit is formed from the flower. (2) The dispersion of seeds.

Fruits. First Studies, pp. 168-171; Lessons with Plants, pp. 251-310; Botany, Bailey, pp. 147-157.

Seed dispersion. First Studies, p. 176; Plant World, pp. 133-156; Little Wanderers, by Morley; Seed Dispersal, by Beal; Cornell Teachers' Quarterly, No. 2 (No. VIII, this volume); Seed Travelers, by Weed; Botany, Bailey, p. 158.

Let the pupils observe: "How some plants get up in the world." First Studies, p. 150; Lessons with Plants, p. 396; Botany, Bailey, p. 108.

_Spring work._--Opening of the buds. Lessons with Plants, pp. 48-63; First Studies, p. 33.

Arrangement of buds. Lessons with Plants, pp. 63-69.

Expansion of bark. Lessons with Plants, pp. 69-72.

FOURTH GRADE.

The object of this year's work may be the teaching of the value of earth, air, light, and water upon plants.

_Fall work._--Experiments to show these to be carried on in schoolroom. Experiments to show value of earth to plants:

(1) Plant seeds in fertile earth; poor earth; clean sand or sawdust.

(2) Plant seeds in sawdust and on cotton batting placed on water in a jar.

Experiments to show use of light to plants:

(1) Sow seeds in two boxes of earth prepared just alike. Place one in the window, one in a dark closet, and note results.

(2) Place house plants from greenhouse in a window, and note change of position of leaves.

(3) The story of the sunflower.

Experiments showing use of water to plants:

(1) Place a very much wilted cut plant in water, and note result.

(2) Place seeds in earth which is dry, and in earth which is kept moist.

(3) Plant seeds on batting floating on a tumbler of water, and note results.

These experiments should extend over several weeks.

_Winter and spring work._--Begin the study of trees. Choose some tree in the schoolyard, if possible, and make this the basis of the work. The following is an outline for the study of a maple tree: Begin observations in January. Make drawings of the tree, showing the relations of branches to trunk and general outline. Note the following details: The color of trunk and branches in January, and the color in February and March; when the buds begin to swell; the arrangement of buds; watch closely to determine whether a bud develops into a blossom or a leaf; the peculiarities of bark on trunk and branches; do the leaves or the blossoms appear first; the shape and color of the blossoms; draw them and study them thoroughly; the color and position of the leaves when they first appear; draw the different stages of the unfolding of the leaves; keep a calendar of all the year's history of the tree; when in full leaf make another drawing of the whole tree; study the tree from below, and if possible from above, to show arrangement of leaves in reference to light; make drawings of the fruit when it is formed; study how it travels; when the first autumn tints appear; make colored drawings of the tree in its autumn foliage, and note when leaves begin to fall and when the branches are finally bare; note different form of maple in the open and maple in the forest.

In connection with the year's history of the tree, study the tree from an economic point of view. Make a special study of sugar-making in connection with the maple tree. Study maple wood. To do this get a quarter section of a piece of maple log and study the grain lengthwise and in cross sections. Study all the industries possible in which maple is used. Devote one notebook to all the work on the maple tree, and at the end summarize the observations. For drawing of trees, see Cornell Teachers' Leaflet, No. 12 (Nos. XXIX and XXX, this volume). Home Nature-Study, Vol. V, Nos. 2, 5.

FIFTH GRADE.

The work during this grade may be devoted to plant physiology. For this work use First Studies of Plant Life, Atkinson. The experiments described in this book are simple and excellent; they give the pupil definite knowledge of the life processes of plants, and the use to the plant of roots, stems, leaves, flowers, and fruit.

Continue studies of trees. Select some other species than the one studied during the last grade. Study it in the same way. Note the differences between the two. Two or three contrasting species may thus be studied.

SIXTH GRADE.

Having studied in the previous year the uses of different parts of the plant, the pupil will be fitted now to take up the general subject of weeds.

Take some common forms and let the pupils observe that they grow where other plants do not grow, or that they drive out other plants; then study the special reasons why each kind of weed is able to do these things. Botany, Bailey, pp. 214-222; Elements of Botany, pp. 196-205.

During the autumn another subject for study in this grade is _Mushrooms_. Lead the pupils to see how these flowerless plants produce seed, and let them bring in as many forms as possible. Do not try to teach which mushrooms are poisonous. Lessons with Plants, p. 347; Mushrooms, by Atkinson.

_Winter work._--Evergreen trees. Cornell Teachers' Leaflet, No. 13 (No. XXXIII, this volume).

_Spring work._--The spring work may well be the making of a calendar for trees and plants. Keep a record each day of the leafage of plants, the appearance of weeds, and the appearance of blossoms of fruit trees and all common flowers. Record which appear first, leaves or blossoms.

This work will be good preparation for the study of the "struggle for existence," which comes in the next grade.

SEVENTH GRADE.

The work for this year, both fall and spring, may be the study of the cross fertilization of flowers. Choose a few of the common flowers, and let the pupils study the means by which pollen is carried from flower to flower.

In studying any flower fertilized by insects always ask: Where is the nectary? Where in relation to the nectary are the stigma and the anthers? What path must the insect follow in order to get the nectar? Do the flowers attract insects by color? By fragrance? What insects do you find visiting the flowers studied? Lessons with Plants, pp. 224-245; Plants, Coulter, pp. 109-137; Elements of Botany, pp. 182-196; Readers in Botany, Newell, Part II, p. 86; Plant World, Bergen, pp. 57-127; Ten New England Blossoms, Weed.

The cross fertilization of flowers is only one adaptation for succeeding in the struggle for existence.

Study as many other ways of insuring the continuance of a plant as is possible. Botany, Bailey, pp. 197-217; Lessons with Plants, pp. 15-20; Elements of Botany, pp. 199-212.

Study plant communities. Botany, Bailey, pp. 219-227; Plant Relations, pp. 146, 162, 168; Plant Structures, p. 313; Cornell Teachers' Leaflet, No. 19 (No. XXXV, this volume).

EIGHTH GRADE.

It seems to be the experience of most teachers that pupils of the seventh and eighth grades are with difficulty kept interested in nature-study. This is probably due to the fact that the methods suited to earlier grades are not suited to these. Pupils of this age, now feeling "grown up," are attracted only by more mature work. They may be interested in some of the following subjects:

_Horticulture and Gardening._--Cornell Teachers' Leaflets. Garden-Making; The Pruning-Book; The Principles of Fruit-Growing; The Principles of Vegetable-Gardening, all by Bailey. Plant Culture, by Goff.

_Forestry._--Relations of forests to preservation of rain-fall and streams. Preservation of Forests. Use of Forests. Reforesting waste lands, etc. A Primer of Forestry by Pinchot, United States Department Agriculture. A First Book of Forestry, Roth.

_Ferns._--Study and make collections of all the ferns of the locality. Make drawings of each fern and its fruiting organs, and press and mount the specimens with full accounts of habits and locality of the plant. How to Know the Ferns, Mrs. Parsons; Gray's Botany; Our Ferns, Clute.

BIBLIOGRAPHY.[7]

[7] This list comprises some of the books that have been helpful to me. It is not intended to be complete. Good new books are constantly appearing. The teacher should endeavor to keep up with the new books.

INSECTS.

Every Day Butterflies. S. H. Scudder. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. $2.00.

Insect Life. J. H. Comstock. D. Appleton & Co. $1.25.

Lessons in Nature-Study. Jenkins & Kellogg. W. B. Harrison, $1.00.

Manual for Study of Insects. J. H. Comstock. Comstock Pub. Co. $3.75.

Moths and Butterflies. (a) Julia P. Ballard. Putnam's Sons. $1.50.

Moths and Butterflies. (b) Mary C. Dickerson. Ginn & Co. $2.50.

Stories of Insect Life. Weed & Murtfeldt. Ginn & Co. 35 cents.

Outdoor Studies. James B. Needham. American Book Co. 40 cents.

Bee People. Margaret W. Morley. A. C. McClurg. $1.25.

The Butterfly Book. W. J. Holland. Doubleday, Page & Co. $3.00.

Caterpillars and Their Moths. Eliot and Soule. The Century Co. $2.00.

Wasps and Their Ways. Margaret W. Morley. Dodd, Mead & Co. $1.50.

The Ways of the Six-Footed. Anna Botsford Comstock. Ginn & Co. 40 cents.

How to Know the Butterflies. J. H. and Anna Botsford Comstock. D. Appleton & Co. $2.25.

ANIMALS OTHER THAN INSECTS.

Animal Life. Jordan & Kellogg. D. Appleton & Co. $1.25.

Familiar Fish. Eugene McCarthy. D. Appleton & Co. $1.50.

Story of the Fishes. James N. Baskett. D. Appleton & Co. 65 cents.

Familiar Life of the Roadside. Schuyler Mathews. D. Appleton & Co. $1.75.

Squirrels and Other Fur Bearers. John Burroughs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. $1.00.

Wild Life in Orchard and Field. Harper & Bros. Wild Neighbors. The Macmillan Co. Ernest Ingersoll. $1.50 each.

Kindred of the Wild. Roberts. L. C. Page. $2.00.

Wild Life Near Home. Dallas Lore Sharp. The Century Co. $2.00.

Four Footed Americans. Wright. The Macmillan Co. $1.50.

American Animals. Stone & Cram. Doubleday, Page & Co. $4.00.

Food and Game Fishes. Jordan & Evermann. Doubleday, Page & Co. $4.00.

Various books that deal with animals from the story or narrative point of view will be found to be interesting and helpful. They are often useful in arousing an interest in the subject. There are many good animal books not mentioned in the above list.

Birds.

Bird Homes. A. R. Dugmore. Doubleday, Page & Co. $2.00.

Bird Life (with colored plates). Frank M. Chapman. D. Appleton & Co. $5.00.

Bird Neighbors. Neltje Blanchan. Doubleday, Page & Co. $2.00.

Birds of Village and Field. Florence Merriam. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. $2.00.

First Book of Birds. Olive Thorne Miller. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. $1.00.

Second Book of Birds. Olive Thorne Miller. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. $1.00.

Our Native Birds. D. Lange. The Macmillan Co. $1.00.

Story of the Birds. James N. Baskett. D. Appleton & Co. 65 cents.

How to Attract the Birds. Neltje Blanchan. Doubleday, Page & Co. $1.35.

The Bird Book. Eckstorm. D. C. Heath & Co. 80 cents.

The Relations of Birds to Man. Weed & Dearborn. Lippincott. $2.50.

The Woodpeckers. F. H. Eckstorm. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. $1.00.

Bird Lore. A magazine. The Macmillans. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. $1.00.

PLANT LIFE.

Botany; an Elementary Text for Schools. L. H. Bailey. The Macmillan Co. $1.00.

Corn Plants. F. L. Sargent. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 60 cents.

Elements of Botany. J. Y. Bergen. Ginn & Co. $1.10.

Familiar Flowers of Field and Garden. S. Mathews. D. Appleton & Co. $1.75.

First Studies in Plant Life. George F. Atkinson. Ginn & Co. 70 cents.

Flowers and Their Friends. Margaret W. Morley. Ginn & Co. 60 cents.

Flowers of Field, Hill and Swamp. C. Creevey. Harper & Bros. $2.50.

Glimpses at the Plant World. Fanny D. Bergen. Ginn & Co. 35 cents.

A Guide to the Wild Flowers. Alice Lounsberry. Frederick A. Stokes Co. $2.50.

How Plants Grow. Asa Gray. American Book Co. 80 cents.

How to Know the Ferns. Mrs. Frances Theodore Parsons. Chas. Scribner's Sons. $1.50.

Our Ferns in Their Haunts. Clute. Stokes Co. $2.00.

How to Know the Wild Flowers. Mrs. Wm. Starr Dana. Chas. Scribner's Sons. $2.00.

Lessons With Plants. L. H. Bailey. The Macmillan Co. $1.10.

Little Wanderers. Margaret W. Morley. Ginn & Co. 35 cents.

Mushrooms. George F. Atkinson. Andrus & Church, Ithaca, N. Y. $3.00.

Plants; a text-book of botany. J. M. Coulter. D. Appleton & Co. $2.00.

Plants and Their Children. Mrs. Wm. Starr Dana. American Book Co. 65 cents.

Reader in Botany. J. H. Newell. 2 vols. Ginn & Co. 70 cents.

Seed Dispersal. W. J. Beal. Ginn & Co. 40 cents.

Ten New England Blossoms. Clarence M. Weed. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. $1.25.

With the Wild Flowers, $1.00; Field, Forest and Wayside Flowers, $1.50. Maud Going. Baker, Taylor & Co.

Flowers and Their Insect Visitors. Gibson. Newson & Co. $1.00.

TREES.

A Guide to the Trees. Alice Lounsberry. Frederick A. Stokes Co. $2.50.

Familiar Trees and Their Leaves. S. Mathews. D. Appleton & Co. $1.75.

Our Native Trees. Our Native Shrubs. Harriet Keeler. Chas. Scribner's Sons. $2.00 each.

A Primer of Forestry. Pinchot. U. S. Dept. Agri.

Getting Acquainted with the Trees. J. H. McFarland. Outlook Co. $1.75.

The First Book of Forestry. Roth. Ginn & Co. $1.00.

Among Green Trees. Julia E. Rogers. Mumford. $3.00.

Trees, Shrubs and Vines. Parkhurst. Chas. Scribner's Sons. $1.50.

Practical Forestry. John Gifford. D. Appleton & Co. $1.20.

* * * * *

The Nature-Study Idea. L. H. Bailey. Doubleday, Page & Co. $1.00.

Science Sketches. David Starr Jordan. McClurg & Co. $1.50.

Poetry of the Seasons. Mary I. Lovejoy. Silver, Burdette & Co. 60 cents.

Nature in Verse. Mary I. Lovejoy. Silver, Burdette & Co. 60 cents.

Nature Pictures by American Poets. The Macmillan Co. $1.25.

Arbor Day Manual. Charles Skinner. Bardeen & Co. $2.50.

Songs of Nature. John Burroughs. McClure, Phillips & Co. $1.50.

Among Flowers and Trees. Wait & Leonard. Lee & Shepherd. $2.00.

LEAFLET VI.

A SUMMER SHOWER.[8]

BY R. S. TARR.

[8] Teachers' Leaflet, No. 14: Cornell Nature-Study Bulletin, June, 1899.

[Illustration]

A Rainstorm comes, the walks are wet, the roads are muddy. Then the sun breaks through the clouds and soon the walks are no longer damp and the mud of the road is dried. Where did the water come from and where has it gone? Let us answer these questions.

A kettle on the stove is forgotten and soon a cracking is heard; the housewife jumps to her feet for the kettle is dry. The kettle was filled with water, but it has all boiled away; and where has it gone? Surely into the air of the room, for it can be seen issuing as "steam" and then disappearing from view, as if by magic. The heat of the fire has changed the liquid water to a gas as invisible as the air itself. This gas is _water vapor_.

[Illustration: _Fig. 9. A glass of cold water on which vapor has condensed in drops._]

Do you wish to prove that the water vapor is there, although unseen? Then, if the day is cool, watch the window and notice the drops of water collect upon it. Or, if the day is warm, bring an ice-cold glass or pitcher into the room and see the drops collect upon it (Fig. 9). People sometimes say, when drops of water collect on a glass of cold water, that the glass is "sweating;" but see whether the same thing will not happen with a cold glass that does not contain water.

These two simple observations teach us two very important facts: (1) That heat will change liquid water to an invisible vapor, or gas, which will float about in the air of a room; and (2) that cold will cause some of the vapor to change back to liquid water.

Let us observe a little further. The clothes upon the line on wash day are hung out wet and brought in dry. If the sun is shining they probably dry quickly; but will they not dry even if the sun is not shining? They will, indeed; so here is another fact to add to our other two, namely (3) that the production of vapor from water will proceed even when the water is not heated.

This change of water to vapor is called _evaporation_. The water evaporates from the clothes; it also evaporates from the walks after a rain, from the mud of the road, from the brooks, creeks and rivers, and from ponds, lakes, and the great ocean itself. Indeed, wherever water is exposed to the air some evaporation is taking place. Yet heat aids evaporation, as you can prove by taking three dishes of the same kind and pouring the same amount of water into each, then placing one on the stove, a second in the sun, and a third in a cool, shady place, as a cellar, and watching to see which is the last to become dry.

About three-fourths of the earth's surface is covered by water, so that the air is receiving vapor all the time. In fact, every minute thousands of barrels of water-vapor are rising into the atmosphere from the surface of the ocean. The air is constantly moving about, forming winds, and this load of vapor is, therefore, drifted about by the winds, so that the air you are breathing may have in it vapor that came from the ocean hundreds or even thousands of miles away. You do not see the vapor, you are perhaps not even aware that it is there; yet in a room 10 feet high and 20 feet square there is often enough vapor, if it could all be changed back to water to fill a two-quart measure.

There is a difference in the amount of vapor from time to time. Some days the air is quite free from it, and then clothes will dry rapidly. On other days the air is damp and humid; then people say it is "muggy," or that the "humidity is high." On these muggy days in summer the air is oppressive because there is so much vapor in it. Near the sea, where there is so much water to evaporate, the air is commonly more humid or moist than in the interior, away from the sea, where there is less water to evaporate.

We have seen that there is some vapor in all air, and that there is more at some times than at others. We have also seen how it has come into the air, and that cold will cause it to condense to liquid water on cold window panes and on water glasses. There are other ways in which the vapor may be changed to liquid.

After a summer day, even when there has been no rain, soon after the sun sinks behind the western horizon the grass becomes so damp that one's feet are wet in walking through it. The dew is "falling." During the daytime the grass is warmed by the sun; but when the sun is gone it grows cooler, much as a stove becomes cool when the fire is out. This cool grass chills the air near it and changes some of the vapor to liquid, which collects in drops on the grass, as the vapor condenses on the outside of a glass of ice water.

In the opposite season of the year, on a cold winter's day, when you step out of a warm house into the chilly air, a thin cloud, or fog, forms as you expel the air from your lungs, and you say that you can "see your breath." What you really see are the little drops of water formed as the vapor-laden breath is chilled on passing from the warm body to the cold air. The vapor is condensed to form a tiny mist.

[Illustration: _Fig. 10. A wreath of fog settled in a valley with the hilltops rising above it._]

Doubtless you have seen a wreath of fog settling in a valley at night; or in the morning you may have looked out upon a fog that has gathered there during the night (Fig. 10). If your home happens to be upon a hillside, perhaps you have been able to look down upon the fog nestled there like a cloud on the land, which it really is. Such a fog is caused in very nearly the same way as the tiny fog made by breathing. The damp air in the valley has been chilled until the vapor has condensed to form tiny mist or fog particles. Without doubt you can tell why this fog disappears when the sun rises and the warm rays fall upon it.

On the ocean there are great fogs, covering the sea for hundreds of miles; they make sailing dangerous, because the sailors cannot see through the mist, so that two vessels may run together, or a ship may be driven upon the coast before the captain knows it. Once more, this is merely condensed vapor caused by chilling air that has become laden with vapor. This chilling is often caused when warm, damp winds blow over the cold parts of the ocean.

This leads the way to an understanding of a rain storm; but first we must learn something about the temperature of the air. The air near the ground where we live is commonly warmer than that above the ground where the clouds are. People who have gone up in balloons tell us so; and now scientific men who are studying this question are in the habit of sending up great kites, carrying thermometers and other instruments, in order to find out about the air far above the ground.

[Illustration: _Fig. 11. Fog clouds among the valleys in the mountains, only the mountain peaks projecting above them._]

It is not necessary, however, to send up a kite or a balloon to prove this. If your home is among mountains, or even among high hills, you can prove it for yourself; for often, in the late autumn, when it rains on the lower ground, it snows upon the mountain tops, so that when the clouds have cleared away the surface of the uplands is robed in white (Fig. 12). In the springtime, or in the winter during a thaw, people living among these highlands often start out in sleighs on a journey to a town, which is in the valley, and before they reach the valley their horses are obliged to drag the sleigh over bare ground. It is so much warmer on the lower ground that the snow melts away much more quickly than it does among the hills.

The difference in temperature is, on the average, about one degree for every three hundred feet, so that a hill top rising twelve hundred feet above a valley would have an average temperature about four degrees lower than the valley. Now some mountains, even in New York, rise thousands of feet above the surrounding country. They rise high into the regions of cold air, so that they are often covered with snow long before any snow has fallen on the lowlands; and the snow remains upon them long after it has disappeared from the lower country (Fig. 12).

[Illustration: _Fig. 12. A mountain whitened by snow on the top, while there is no snow at the base._]

Some mountains are so lofty that it never rains upon them, but snows instead; and they are never free from snow, even in mid-summer. If one climbs to the top of such peaks he finds it always very cold there. While he is shivering from the cold he can look down upon the green fields where the birds are singing, the flowers blossoming and the men, working in the fields, are complaining of the heat.

[Illustration: _Fig. 13. A mountain peak snow capped, and covered on the very crest by a cloud._]

One who watches such a mountain as this, or in fact any mountain peak, will notice that it is frequently wrapped in clouds (Fig. 13). Damp winds blowing against the cold mountains are chilled and the vapor is condensed. If one climbs through such a cloud, as thousands of people have done when climbing mountains, he often seems to pass through nothing but a fog, for really many clouds are only fogs high in the air. (Fig. 14).

But very often rain falls from these clouds that cling to the mountain sides. The reason for this is easy to understand. As the air comes against the cold mountains so much vapor is condensed that some of the tiny fog particles grow larger and larger until they become mist particles, which are too heavy to float in the air. They then begin to settle; and as one particle strikes against another, the two unite, and this continues until perhaps a dozen have joined together so as to form a good-sized drop, which is so heavy that it is obliged to fall to the ground as rain.

[Illustration: _Fig. 14. Clouds clinging to the mountain sides. If one were climbing these mountains he would find himself, in passing through the clouds, either in a fog or a mist._]

Let us now look at our summer storms. These do not form about mountain peaks; yet what has been said about the mountains will help us to understand such showers.

It is a hot summer day. The air is muggy and oppressive, so that the least exertion causes a perspiration, and even in the shade one is uncomfortably hot. Soon great banks of clouds appear (Fig. 15),--the "thunder heads,"--and people say "a thunder shower is coming, so that we will soon have relief from this oppressive heat." The clouds draw near, lightning is seen and thunder heard, and from the black base of the cloud, torrents of water fall upon the earth. If we could have watched this cloud from the beginning, and followed it on its course, we would have seen some facts that would help explain it. Similar clouds perhaps began to form over your head in the early afternoon and drifted away toward the east, developing into thunder storms many miles to the east of you.

On such a day as this, the air near the ground is so damp that it gives up vapor easily, as you can prove by allowing a glass of ice water to stand on a table and watching the drops of water gather there, causing the glass to "sweat" (Fig. 9). The sun beats down upon the heated ground and the surface becomes like a furnace, so that the air near the ground is warmed.

[Illustration: _Fig. 15. A "thunder head," or cumulus cloud._]

Air that is warm is lighter than cool air, and, being lighter, will rise, for the heavy cool air will settle and push it up, as a chip of wood will rise in a pail of water, because it is lighter than the water which pushes it to the top. This is why the warm air rises from a furnace, or a stove, or a lamp. It is the reason why the hot air rises through a house chimney; undoubtedly you can find other illustrations, as ventilation, and can find abundant opportunity to prove that warm air will rise.

The warm, moist air near the ground becomes so light that the heavy air above settles down and pushes it up, so that an uprising current of air is formed above the heated ground, much as an uprising current of hot air rises through the chimney when the stove is lighted. Rising thousands of feet into the sky the warm air reaches such a height, and finally comes to a place so cool, that some of the vapor must be condensed, forming fog particles, which in turn form a cloud.

On such a day, if you will watch a cloud, you will notice that its base is flat (Fig. 15); and this flat base marks the height above ground where the temperature of the atmosphere is low enough to change the vapor to fog particles. Of course the air still rises somewhat above this base and continues to get cooler, and to have more and more vapor condensed. This makes a pile of clouds resting on a level base, but with rounded tops (Fig. 15). Sometimes the base of these summer clouds, called cumulus clouds, is a mile above the ground and their tops fully a mile higher than this.

[Illustration: _Fig. 16. Photograph of a lightning flash._]

Just as on the mountain side, where the drops grow larger until they must fall, so here, fog particles grow to drops of such a size that they are too heavy to float. This growth is often aided by the violent currents of air, which sometimes tumble and toss the clouds about so that you can see the commotion from the ground. These currents blow one particle against another, forming a single drop from the collision of two; then still others are added until the rain drop is so heavy that it must fall.

But sometimes the air currents are so rapid that the drops are carried on up, higher and higher, notwithstanding the fact that they are heavy. Then they may be carried so high, and into air so cold, that they are frozen, forming hail. These "hailstones" cannot sink to the ground until they are thrown out of the violent currents, when they fall to the ground, often near the edge of the storm.

Some hailstones are of great size; you will find it interesting to examine them. If you do this, notice the rings of clear and clouded ice that are often to be seen. These are caused when the hail, after forming, settles to a place where it melts a little, then is lifted again by another current, growing larger by the addition of more vapor. This continues until finally the ice ball sinks to the ground.

There is thunder and lightning in such storms. Few things in nature are grander than these, and those who will watch the lightning flash will see many beautiful and interesting sights (Fig. 16). Sometimes the flash goes from cloud to cloud, again from the cloud to the ground. No one knows exactly why the lightning comes; but we do know that it is an electric spark, something like that which one can often see pass from the trolley to the wire of an electric car line. The main difference is that the spark in a thunder storm is a powerful lightning bolt that passes over a space of thousands of feet and often does great damage where it strikes.

The thunder is a sound which may be compared to the crack heard when a spark passes from the trolley, though of course the noise is very much louder. The crack of the lightning echoes and reverberates among the clouds, often changing to a great rumble; but this rumbling is mainly caused by the echo, the sound from the lightning being a loud crack or crash like that which we sometimes hear when the lightning strikes near by.

Some of the vapor of the air, on condensing, gathers on solid objects like grass, or glass; but some, as fog, floats about in the air. Really this, too, is often gathered around solid objects. Floating about in the air are innumerable bits of "dust" which you can see dancing about in the sunlight when a sunbeam enters a dark room. Some of these "dust" particles are actual dust from the road, but much of it is something else, as the pollen of plants, microbes, and the solid bits produced by the burning of wood or coal.

Each bit serves as a tiny nucleus on which the vapor condenses; and so the very "dust" in the air aids in the formation of rain by giving something solid around which the liquid can gather. The great amount of dust in the air near the great city of London is believed to be one of the causes for the frequent fogs of that city.

That there is dust in the air, and that the rain removes it, is often proved when a dull hazy air is changed to a clear, bright air by a summer shower. Watch to find instances of this. Indeed, after such a hazy day, when the rain drops first begin to fall, if you will let a few drops fall upon a sheet of clean white paper, and then dry it, you will find the paper discolored by the dust that the rain brought with it. So the rain purifies the air by removing from it the solids that are floating in it.

These are only a few of the things of interest that you can see for yourself by studying the air. Watch the sky; it is full of interest. See what you can observe for yourself. Watch especially the clouds, for they are not only interesting but beautiful (Fig. 17). Their forms are often graceful, and they change with such rapidity that you can notice it as you watch them. Even in the daytime the colors and shadows are beautiful; but at sunrise and at sunset the clouds are often changed to gorgeous banks of color.

[Illustration: _Fig. 17. A sky flecked with clouds high in the air._]

Watch the clouds and you will be repaid; look especially for the great piles of clouds in the east during the summer when the sun is setting (Fig. 18). Those lofty banks, tinged with silver and gold, and rising like mountains thousands of feet into the air, are really made of bits of fog and mist. Among them vapor is still changing to water and rain drops are forming, while violent currents are whirling the drops about, and perhaps lifting them to such a height that they are being frozen into hailstones. Far off to the east, beneath that cloud, rain is falling in torrents, lightning is flashing and thunder crashing, though you cannot hear it because it is so far away.

[Illustration: _Fig. 18. The cloud banks of a thunder storm on the horizon._]

You see the storm merely as a brightly lighted and beautifully colored cloud mass in the sky; but the people over whom it is hanging find it a threatening black cloud, the source of a furious wind, a heavy rain, and the awe-inspiring lightning. To them it may not be beautiful, though grand in the extreme; and so, too, when the summer thunder shower visits you in the early evening, you may know that people to the west of you are probably looking at its side and top and admiring its beauty of form and color.

The storm passes on, still to the eastward, and finally the cloud mass entirely disappears beneath the eastern horizon; but if you watch, you will see signs that it is still there, though out of sight; for in the darkness of the night you can see the eastern horizon lighted by little flashes, the source of which cannot be seen. You call it "heat lightning," but it is really the last signal that we can see of the vanishing thunder storm, so far away that the sound of the crashing thunder cannot be heard.

You watch the mysterious flashes; they grow dimmer and dimmer and finally you see them no more. Our summer shower is gone. It has done what thousands of others have done before, and what thousands of others will do in the future. It has started, moved off, and finally disappeared from sight; and as it has gone it has told us a story. You can read a part of this story if you will; and in reading it will find much that interests.

LEAFLET VII.

A SNOW STORM.[9]

BY ANNA BOTSFORD COMSTOCK.

The snow had begun in the gloaming, And busily all the night Had been heaping field and highway With a silence deep and white. Every pine and fir and hemlock Wore ermine too dear for an earl, And the poorest twig on the elm-tree Was ridged inch deep with pearl. From sheds new-roofed with Carrara Came Chanticleer's muffled crow The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down And still fluttered down the snow. --_Lowell._

[9] Home Nature-Study Course, December, 1903.

[Illustration]

The storm which Lowell describes so delightfully is the first soft, gentle snow fall that comes in November or early December. "The silence deep and white" settles like a benediction over the brown, uneven landscape, and makes of it a scene of enchantment. Very different from this is the storm that comes when the winter cold is most severe and winter winds most terrific. Then the skies are as white as the fields, with never a sign of blue; if the sun appears at all, it shines cold instead of warm, and seems but a vague white spot behind the veil of upward, downward whirling snowflakes; the wild wind takes the "snow dust" in eddies across the fields and piles it at the fences in great drift billows with overhanging crests. On such a day the snow is so cold and dry, the clouds so low and oppressive, the bare trees so brown and bleak, that we shiver even though we gaze on the dreary scene from the window of a warm and comfortable room.

[Illustration: _Fig. 19. Snow crystals enlarged._]

But another change is sure to come. Some February day the wind will veer suddenly to the south and breathe warm thawing breaths over the white frozen world. Then will the forests appear in robes of vivid blue-purple against the shining hills; and in the mornings the soft blue of the horizon will shade upward into rose-color and still upward into yellow and beryl green; these hues are never seen on the forest or in the sky except when the snow covers the earth to the horizon line. The eye that loves color could ill afford to lose from the world the purples and blues which bring contrast into the winter landscape.

The snow storm to our limited understanding, begins with a miracle--the miracle of crystallization. Why should water freezing freely in the air be a part of geometry, the six rays of the snow crystal growing at an angle one to another, of sixty degrees? Or as if to prove geometry divine beyond cavil, sometimes the rays include angles of twice sixty degrees. Then why should the decorations of the rays assume thousands of intricate, beautiful forms, each ray of a flake ornamented exactly like its five sisters? And why should the snowflake formed in the higher clouds of the upper air be tabular in shape but still, in cross section, show that it is built on the plan of six radii? Look at it as we will, the formation of a crystal is a beautiful mystery and is as unfathomable as is the mystery of life.

[Illustration: _Fig. 20. Snow crystals enlarged._]

I am indebted to the courtesy of Mr. R. G. Allen, Section Director for New York of the U. S. Weather Bureau, for suggestions in making out the following questions. The beautiful pictures of snow crystals illustrating this lesson were made from photographs taken by Mr. W. A. Bentley of Jericho, Vt. It is our desire to interest all teachers in the natural history of a snow storm, to the end that "they may love the country better and be content to live therein."

A thermometer hung in a sheltered, open place away from the warmth of the house is a necessary preliminary to the proper observation of the phenomena of a snow storm.

Dark woolen cloth is the best medium on which to catch and observe snow crystals.

[Illustration: _Fig. 21. "With a silence deep and white."_]

QUESTIONS ON A SNOW STORM.

1. What causes snow?

2. At what temperature do snow crystals form?

3. How do the clouds appear before a snow storm?

4. What is the temperature of the air before the storm?

5. What is the direction of the wind before the storm?

6. Does the storm come from the same direction as the wind?

7. What are the conditions of the wind and temperature when the snow crystals are most perfect in form?

8. What are these conditions when the snow crystals are matted together in great flakes?

9. What are these conditions when the snow crystals appear sharp and needle-like?

10. Are the snow crystals of the same storm similar in structure and decoration?

11. What is the difference in structure between a snowflake and a hail stone?

12. What is sleet?

13. What is the difference between hoar frost and snow?

14. Does the temperature rise or fall during a snow storm?

15. Is it colder or warmer after a snow storm has passed than it was before it began?

16. What are the conditions of weather which cause a blizzard?

17. Why does a covering of snow prevent the ground from freezing so severely as it would if bare?

18. Why is snow a bad conductor of heat?

19. Pack snow in a quart cup until it is full and let it melt; then tell how full the cup is of water. What do you infer from this?

20. Have you ever observed the grass to be green beneath snow drifts? Tell why.

21. Does snow evaporate as well as melt?

22. How does snow benefit the farmer and the fruit grower?

23. Do the snow storms in your locality come from one general direction all winter?

LEAFLET VIII.

A HANDFUL OF SOIL: WHAT IT IS.[10]

BY R. S. TARR.

[10] Nature-Study Quarterly, No. 2: Leaflet 15.

[Illustration]

Wind drifts a seed from the parent plant until it settles to the ground, perhaps in a field or by the roadside, or even in the schoolyard. There it remains through the long winter; but with the return of spring, encouraged by the warm sunlight, the seed awakens from its dormant condition, breaks open the seed-cover and sends leaves into the air and roots into the ground. No one planted the seed; yet the plant has made its way in the world and it thrives until it has given to other seeds the same opportunity to start in life.

Had the seed fallen upon a board or a stone it might have sent out leaves and roots; but it could never have developed into a plant, for something necessary would have been lacking. What is there in the soil that is so necessary to the success of plant life? How has it come to be there? What is this soil that the plants need so much? These are some of the questions which we will try to answer.

One readily sees that the soil furnishes a place in which the plants may fix themselves,--an anchorage, as it were. It is also easy to see that from the soil the plants obtain a supply of water; and, moreover, that this water is very necessary, for the vegetation in a moist country suffers greatly in time of drought, and few plants are able to grow in a desert region because there is so little water. You can make a desert in the schoolroom and contrast it with moist soil by planting seeds in two dishes of soil, watering one, but furnishing no water to the other.

That water is necessary to plants is also proved by the plant itself. The sap and the moisture which may be pressed out of a grass stem or an apple are principally water taken from the soil by the roots. But there is more than water, for the juice of an apple is sweet or sour, while the sap and juice of other plants may be sweet or bitter. There are substances dissolved in the water.

It is these dissolved substances that the plants need for their growth, and they find them ready for use in the soil. There is a plant-food which the roots seek and find, so that every plant which sends roots into the soil takes something from it to build up the plant tissue. The sharp edges of some sedges, which will cut the hand like a dull knife, and the wood ashes left when a wood fire is burned, represent in part this plant-food obtained from the soil.

Let us take a handful of soil from the field, the schoolyard, or the street and examine it. We find it to be dirt that "soils" the hands; and when we try to brush off the dirt, we notice a gritty feeling that is quite disagreeable. This is due to the bits of mineral in the soil; and that these are hard, often harder than a pin, may often be proved by rubbing soil against a piece of glass, which the hard bits will often scratch, while a pin will not.

[Illustration: _Fig. 21. A boulder-strewn soil of glacial origin with one of the large erratics on the right similar to those which early attracted attention to the drift. See page 105._]

Study this soil with the eye and you may not see the tiny bits, though in sandy soils one may easily notice that there are bits of mineral. Even fine loamy and clay soils, when examined with a pocket lens or a microscope, will be found to be composed of tiny fragments of mineral. It is evident that in some way mineral has been powdered up to form the soil; and since the minerals come from rocks, it is the rocks that have been ground up. That powdered rock will make just such a substance as soil may be proved by pounding a pebble to bits, or by collecting some of the rock dust that is made when a hole is drilled in a rock. Much the same substance is ground from a grindstone when a knife is sharpened on it, making the water muddy like that in a mud hole.

It will be an interesting experiment to reduce a pebble to powder and plant seeds in it to see whether they will grow as well as in soil; but in preparing it try to avoid using a sandstone pebble, because sandy soils are never very fertile.

[Illustration: _Fig. 22. A glacial soil, containing numerous transported pebbles and boulders, resting on the bed rock._]

Not only is soil made up of bits of powdered rock, but it everywhere rests upon rock (Fig. 25). Some consider soil to be only the surface layers in which plants grow; but really this is, in most places, essentially the same as the layers below, down even to the very rock, so that we might call it all soil; though, since a special name, _regolith_ (meaning stone blanket), has been proposed for all the soft, soil-like rock-cover, we may speak of it as regolith and reserve the word soil for the surface layers only.

In some places there is no soil on the bare rocks; elsewhere the soil-cover is a foot or two in depth; but there are places where the regolith is several hundred feet deep. In such places, even the wells do not reach the bed rock; nor do the streams cut down to it; but even there, if one should dig deep enough, he would reach the solid rock beneath.

How has the hard rock been changed to loose soil? One of the ways, of which there are several, may be easily studied whenever a rock has been exposed to the air. Let us go to a stone wall or among the pebbles in a field, for instance, and, chipping off the surface, notice how different the inside is from the outside. The outer crust is rusted and possibly quite soft, while the interior is harder and fresher. Many excellent examples of this may be found in any stony field or stone wall.

[Illustration: _Fig. 23. The bed of a stream at low water, revealing the rounded pebbles that have been worn and smoothed by being rolled about, thus grinding off tiny bits which later are built into the flood-plains._]

As hard iron rusts and crumbles to powder when exposed to the weather; so will the minerals and the rocks decay and fall to bits; but rocks require a very much greater time for this than does iron. It happens that the soil of New York has not been produced by the decay of rock; and, therefore, although the soils in many parts of the world have been formed in this way, we will not delay longer in studying this subject now, nor in considering the exact way in which rocks are enabled to crumble.

Another way in which rocks may be powdered may be seen in most parts of New York. The rains wash soil from the hillsides causing the streams to become muddy. In the streams there are also many pebbles, possibly the larger fragments that have fallen into the stream after having been broken from the ledges. The current carries these all along down the stream, and, as they go, one piece striking against another, or being dragged over the rocks in the stream bed, the pebbles are ground down and smoothed (Fig. 23), which means, of course, that more mud is supplied to the stream, as mud is furnished from a grindstone when a knife or scythe is being sharpened on it. On the pebbly beaches of the sea or lakeshore much the same thing may be seen; and here also the constant grinding of the rocks wears off the edges until the pebbles become smooth and round.

[Illustration: _Fig. 24. Near view of a cut in glacial soil, gullied by the rains, and with numerous transported pebbles embedded in the rock flour._]

Supplied with bits of rock from the soil, or from the grinding up of pebbles and rocks along its course, the stream carries its load onward, perhaps to a lake, which it commences to fill, forming a broad delta of level and fertile land, near where the stream enters the lake. Or, possibly, the stream enters the sea and builds a delta there, as the Mississippi river has done.

[Illustration: _Fig. 25. A scratched limestone pebble taken from a glacial soil._]

But much of the mud does not reach the sea. The greatest supply comes when the streams are so flooded by heavy rains or melting snows that the river channel is no longer able to hold the water, which then rises above the banks, overflowing the surrounding country. Then, since its current is checked where it is so shallow, the water drops some of its load of rock bits on the flood-plain, much as the muddy water in a gutter drops sand or mud on the sidewalk when, in time of heavy rains, it overflows the walk.

Many of the most fertile lands of the world are flood-plains of this kind, where sediment, gathered by the streams farther up their courses, is dropped upon the flood-plains, enriching them by new layers of fertile soil. One does not need to go to the Nile, the Yellow, or the Mississippi for illustrations of this; they abound on every hand, and many thousands of illustrations, great and small, may be found in the State of New York. Doubtless you can find one.

[Illustration: _Fig. 26. The grooved bed rock scratched by the movement of the ice sheet over it._]

There are other ways in which soils may be formed; but only one more will be considered, and that is the way in which most of the soils of New York have been made. To study this let us go to a cut in the earth, such as a well or a stream bank (Figs. 22 and 24). Scattered through the soil numerous pebbles and boulders will doubtless be found; and if these are compared with the bed rock of the country, which underlies the soil (Fig. 22), some of them will be found to be quite different from it. For instance, where the bed rock is shale or limestone, some of the pebbles will no doubt be granite, sandstone, etc. If you could explore far enough, you would find just such rocks to the north of you, perhaps one or two hundred miles away in Canada; or, if your home is south of the Adirondacks, you might trace the pebbles to those mountains.

On some of these pebbles, especially the softer ones, such as limestone, you will find scratches, as if they had been ground forcibly together (Fig. 25). Looking now at the bed rock in some place from which the soil has been recently removed, you will find it also scratched and grooved (Fig. 26); and if you take the direction of these scratches with the compass, you will find that they extend in a general north and south direction, pointing, in fact, in the same direction from which the pebbles have come.

All over northeastern North America and northwestern Europe the soil is of the same nature as that just described. In our own country this kind of soil reaches down as far as the edge of the shaded area in the map (Fig. 27), and it will be noticed that all of New York is within that area excepting the extreme southwestern part near the southern end of Chautauqua lake.

Not only is the soil peculiar within this district, but there are many small hills of clay or sand, or sometimes of both together (Figs. 33 and 34). They rise in hummocky form and often have deep pits or kettle-shaped basins between, sometimes, when the soil is clayey enough to hold water, containing tiny pools. These hills extend in somewhat irregular ranges stretching across the country from the east toward the west. The position of some of these ranges is indicated on the map (Fig. 27).

For a long time people wondered how this soil with its foreign pebbles and boulders, altogether called "drift," came to be placed where it is; they were especially puzzled to tell how the large boulders, called erratics (Fig. 21), should have been carried from one place to another. It was suggested that they came from the bursting of planets, from comets, from the explosion of mountains, from floods, and in other ways equally unlikely; but Louis Agassiz, studying the glaciers of the Alps and the country round about, was impressed by the resemblance between the "drift" and the materials carried by living glaciers.

Agassiz, therefore, proposed the hypothesis that glaciers had carried the drift and left it where we now find it; but for many years his glacial hypothesis met with a great deal of opposition because it seemed impossible that the climate could have changed so greatly as to cover what is now a temperate land with a great sheet of ice. Indeed, even now, although all who have especially studied the subject are convinced, many people have not accepted Agassiz's explanation, just as years ago, long after it was proved that the earth rotated each day, many people still believed that it was the sun, not the earth, that was moving.

[Illustration: _Fig. 27. Map showing the extent of the ice sheet in the United States. Position of some of the moraines indicated by the heavily shaded lines._ (_After Chamberlain._)]

The glacial explanation is as certain as that the earth rotates. For some reason, which we do not know, the climate changed and allowed ice to cover temperate lands, as before that time the climate had changed so as to allow plants like those now growing as far south as Virginia to live in Greenland, now ice covered. When the ice of the glacier melted away it left many signs of its presence; and when the temperate latitude plants grew in Greenland they left seeds, leaves and tree trunks which have been imbedded in the rocks as fossils. One may now pick the leaves of temperate climate trees from the rocks beneath a great icecap.

[Illustration: _Fig. 28. A view over the great ice plateau of Greenland, with a mountain peak projecting above it._]

To one who studies them, the signs left by the glacier are as clear proof as the leaves and seeds. From these signs we know that the climate has changed slowly, but we have not yet learned why it changed.

There are now two places on the earth where vast glaciers, or ice sheets, cover immense areas of land, one in the Antarctic, a region very little known, the other in Greenland, where there is an ice sheet covering land having an area more than ten times that of the State of New York. Let us study this region to see what is being done there, in order to compare it with what has been done in New York.

[Illustration: _Fig. 29. The edge of a part of the great Greenland ice sheet (on the left) resting on the land, over which are strewn many boulders brought by the ice and left there when it melted._]

In the interior is a vast plateau of ice, in places over 10,000 feet high, a great icy desert (Fig. 28), where absolutely no life of any kind, either animal or plant, can exist, and where it never rains, but where the storms bring snow even in the middle of summer. Such must have been the condition in northeastern America during the glacial period.

[Illustration: _Fig. 30. A scratched pebble taken from the ice of the Greenland glacier._]

This vast ice sheet is slowly moving outward in all directions from the elevated center, much as a pile of wax may be made to flow outward by placing a heavy weight upon the middle. Moving toward the north, east, south and west, this glacier must of course come to an end somewhere. In places, usually at the heads of bays, the end is in the sea, as the end of our glacier must have been off the shores of New England. From these sea-ends, icebergs constantly break off; these floating away toward the south, often reach, before they melt, as far as the path followed by the steamers from the United States to Europe. Between the bays where the glacier ends in the sea, the ice front rests on the land (Fig. 29), as it did over the greater part of New York and the states further west. There it melts in the summer, supplying streams with water and filling many small ponds and lakes. The front stands there year after year, sometimes moving a little ahead, again melting further back so as to reveal the rocks on which it formerly rested.

[Illustration: _Fig. 31. A part of the edge of the Greenland glacier, with clean white ice above, and dark discolored bands below where laden with rock fragments. In the foreground is a boulder-strewn moraine._]

The bed rock here is found to be polished, scratched and grooved just like the bed-rock in New York; and the scratches extend in the direction from which the ice moves. Resting on the rock are boulders and pebbles (Fig. 22), sometimes on the bare rock, sometimes imbedded in a clay as they are in the drift. As we found when studying the soil in our own region, so here the pebbles are often scratched, and many of them are quite different from the rock on which they rest.

[Illustration: _Fig. 32. Hummocky surface of the boulder-strewn moraine of Greenland._]

Going nearer to the ice we find the lower part loaded with pebbles, boulders and bits of clay very like those on the rocks near by. Fig. 30 shows one of these, scratched and grooved, which I once dug from the ice of this very glacier. The bottom of the ice is like a huge sandpaper, being dragged over the bed rock with tremendous force. It carries a load of rock fragments, and as it moves secures more by grinding or prying them from the rocks beneath. These all travel on toward the edge of the ice, being constantly ground finer and finer as wheat is ground when it goes through the mill. Indeed the resemblance is so close that the clay produced by this grinding action is often called _rock flour_.

Dragged to the front of the ice, the rock bits, great and small, roll out as the ice melts, some, especially the finest, being carried away in the water, which is always muddy with the rock flour it carries; but much remains near the edge of the ice, forming a _moraine_ (Figs. 31 and 32). This moraine, dumped at the edge of the glacier, very closely resembles the hummocky hills of New York (Figs. 33 and 34), mentioned above, which are really moraines formed at the ice-edge during the glacial period. While their form is quite alike, the New York moraines are generally less pebbly than the Greenland moraines, because the Greenland glacier carries less rock flour than did the glacier which covered New York.

[Illustration: _Fig. 33. A view over the hummocky surface of a part of the moraine of the great American ice sheet in Central New York._]

In the Greenland glacier, as you can see in Fig. 31, there is much dirt and rock; in the glacier of the glacial period there was even more. When it melted away the ice disappeared as water, but the rock fragments of course fell down upon the rock beneath and formed soil. If over a certain region, as for instance over your home, the ice carried a great load of drift, when this gradually settled down, as the ice melted, it formed a deep layer of soil; but if the glacier had only a small load a shallow soil was left. Again, if the ice front remained for a long time near a certain place, as near your home, it kept bringing and dumping rock fragments to form moraines, which, of course, would continue to grow higher so long as the ice dumped the rock fragments, much as a sand pile will continue to grow higher so long as fresh loads are brought and dumped.

There are other causes for differences in the glacial soils, but most of them cannot be considered here. One of them is so important, however, that it must be mentioned. With the melting of so much ice, vast floods of water were caused, and these came from the ice, perhaps in places where there are now no streams, or at best only small ones. These rapid currents carried off much of the rock flour and left the coarser and heavier sand, gravel, or pebbles, the latter often well rounded, with the scratches removed by the long-continued rolling about in the glacial stream bed.

One often finds such beds of sand or gravel in different parts of the State, telling not only of ice where it is now absent, but of water currents where is now dry land. The rock flour was in some cases carried to the sea, elsewhere to lakes, or in still other places deposited in the flood-plains of the glacier-fed rivers. Now some of this rock flour is dug out to make into bricks.

Enough has been said to show that the soils of New York were brought by a glacier, and to point out that there are many differences in thickness as well as in kind and condition of the soil. The agriculture of the State is greatly influenced by these differences. In some cases one part of a farm has a deep, rich soil, another part a barren, sandy, pebbly or boulder-covered soil (Fig. 21), while in still another part the bed rock may be so near the surface that it does not pay to clear the forest from it. Moreover, some farms are in hummocky moraines, while others, near by, are on level plains (Fig. 34), where a broad glacial stream built up a flood-plain in a place where now the stream is so small that it never rises high enough to overflow the plain.

There are even other differences than these, and one who is familiar with a region is often puzzled to explain them; but they are all due to the glacier or to the water furnished by its melting, and a careful study by a student of the subject of Glacial Geology will serve to explain them. Each place has had peculiar conditions and it would be necessary to study each place much more carefully than has been done here in order to explain all the differences.

Not only is agriculture influenced greatly by the differences in the soil from place to place, but also by the very fact that they are glacial soils. Being made up of partly ground-up rock fragments the soils are often stony and difficult to till. Unlike the soil of rock decay, the particles of which the glacial soil is made have been derived by mechanical grinding, not by chemical decay and disintegration. There has been less leaching out of the soluble compounds which make plant foods. These are stored up in the rock fragments ready for use when decay causes the proper changes to produce the soluble compounds which plants require.

[Illustration: _Fig. 34. Hummocky moraine hills in the background and a level gravel plain--an ancient glacial-stream flood-plain--in foreground._]

Slowly the glacial soils are decaying, and, as they do so, are furnishing plant-food to the water which the roots greedily draw in. So the glacial soil is not a mere store house of plant-food, but a manufactory of it as well, and glacial soils are therefore "strong" and last for a long time. That decay is going on, especially near the surface, may often be seen in a cut in the soil, where the natural blue color of the drift is seen below, while near the surface the soil is rusted yellow by the decay of certain minerals which contain iron.

Few materials on the earth are more important than the soil; it acts as the intermediary between man and the earth. The rocks have some substances locked up in them which animals need; by decay, or by being ground up, the rocks crumble so that plants may send roots into them and extract the substances needed by animals. Gifted with this wonderful power the plants grow and furnish food to animals, some of which is plant-food obtained from the rocks; and so the animals of the land, and man himself, secure a large part of their food from the rocks. It is then worth the while to stop for a moment and think and study about this, one of the most marvelous of the many wonderful adjustments of Nature, but so common that most persons live and die without even giving it more than a passing thought.

LEAFLET IX.

A HANDFUL OF SOIL: WHAT IT DOES.[11]

BY L. A. CLINTON.

[11] Nature-Study Quarterly, No. 2: Leaflet 15, October, 1899.

[Illustration]

The more one studies the soil, the more certainly it will be found that the earth has locked up in her bosom many secrets, and that these secrets will not be given up for the mere asking. As mysterious as the soil may appear at different times, it always is governed by certain laws. These principles once understood, the soil becomes an open book from which one may read quickly and accurately.

USES OF THE SOIL.

The soil has certain offices to perform for which it is admirably fitted. The most important of these offices are:

1. To hold plants in place; 2. To serve as a source of plant-food; 3. To act as a reservoir for moisture; 4. To serve as a storehouse for applied plant-food or fertilizer.

Some soils are capable of performing all these offices, while others are fitted for only a part of them. Thus a soil which is pure sand and almost entirely deficient in the essential elements of plant-food, may serve, if located near a large city, merely to hold the plants in position while the skillful gardener feeds the plants with specially prepared fertilizers, and supplies the moisture by irrigation.

Early in the study of soils an excursion, if possible, should be made into the woods. Great trees will be seen and under the trees will be found various shrubs and possibly weeds and grass. It will be noticed that the soil is well occupied with growing plants. The surface will be found covered with a layer several inches thick of leaves and twigs. Beneath this covering the soil is dark, moist, full of organic matter, loose, easily spaded except as roots or stones may interfere, and has every appearance of being fertile.

SOIL CONDITIONS AS FOUND IN MANY FIELDS.

After examining the conditions in the forest, a study should be made of the soil in some cultivated field. It will be found that in the field the soil has lost many of the marked characteristics noticed in the woodland. In walking over the field, the soil will be found to be hard and compact. The surface may be covered with growing plants, for if the seeds which have been put into the soil by the farmer have not germinated and the plants made growth, nature has quickly come to the rescue and filled the soil with other plants which we commonly call weeds. It is nature's plan to keep the soil covered with growing plants, and from nature we should learn a lesson. The field soil, instead of being moist, is dry; instead of being loose and friable, it is hard and compact, and it appears in texture entirely different from the woodland soil. The cause of the difference is not hard to discover. In the woods, nature for years has been building up the soil. The leaves from the trees fall to the ground and form a covering which prevents washing or erosion, and these leaves decay and add to the humus, or vegetable mould, of the soil. Roots are constantly decaying and furnish channels through the soil and permit the circulation of air and water.

In the field, nature's lesson has been disregarded and too often the whole aim seems to be to remove everything from the soil and to make no returns. Consequently the organic matter, or humus, has been used up; the tramping of the horses' feet has closed the natural drainage canals; after the crop is removed, the soil is left naked during the winter and the heavy rains wash and erode the surface, and remove some of the best plant-food. After a few years of such treatment, the farmer wonders why the soil will not produce as liberally as it did formerly.

_Experiment No. 1._--The fact that there is humus, or vegetable mould, in certain soils can be shown by burning. Weigh a potful of hard soil and a potful of lowland soil, or muck, after each has been thoroughly dried. Then put the pots on the coals in a coal stove. After the soil is thoroughly burned, weigh again. Some of the difference in weight may be due to loss of moisture, but if the samples were well dried in the beginning, most of the loss will be due to the burning of the humus.

CONDITIONS WHICH AFFECT FERTILITY.

There are certain conditions which affect soil fertility and of these the most important are:

Texture; Moisture-content; Plant-food; Temperature.

TEXTURE AND ITS RELATION TO FERTILITY.

By texture is meant the physical condition of the soil. Upon good texture, more than upon any other one thing, depends the productivity of the soil. When the texture is right the soil is fine, loose, and friable; the roots are able to push through it and the feeding area is enlarged. Each individual particle is free to give up a portion of its plant-food, or its film of moisture. The conditions which are found in the woods' soil are almost ideal.

_Experiment No. 2._--The importance of good texture may be well shown in the class room. Pots should be filled with a soil which is lumpy and cloddy, and other pots with the same kind of material after it has been made fine and mellow. After seeds are planted in the different pots, a careful study should be made of the length of time required for germination and of the health and vigor of the plants.

_Experiment No. 3._--The greater part of our farming lands do not present ideal conditions as regards texture. Clay soils are especially likely to be in bad condition. If samples of the various soils can be collected, as sand, loam, clay, etc., it may be clearly shown how different soils respond to the same kind of treatment. With a common garden trowel, the soils should be stirred and worked while wet, and then put away to dry. After drying, the conditions presented by the soils should be noted, also the length of time required for the soils to become dry. Whereas the sand and the loam will remain in fairly good condition when dry, the clay will have become "puddled," _i. e._, the particles will have run together and made a hard, compact mass. Thus it is found in practice that clay soils must be handled with far more care and intelligence than is required for the sand and loams, if the texture is to be kept perfect.

_Experiment No. 4._--If, in the experiment above suggested, the clay soil is mixed with leaf-mould, or humus soil, from the woods, it will be found to act very differently. The vegetable matter thus mixed with the mineral matter prevents the running together of the particles of clay.

Two principles, both important as relating to soil texture, now have been illustrated. Soils must not be worked when they are so wet that their particles will cohere, and organic matter, or humus, must be kept mixed with the mineral matter of the soil. In practical farm operations, if the soil can be made into a mud ball it is said to be too wet to work. The required amount of humus is retained in the soil by occasionally plowing under some green crop, as clover, or by applying barn manures.

[Illustration: _Fig. 35. The glass of water at the right has received lime and the clay has been flocculated; the other was not treated._]

Clay soils are also frequently treated with lime to cause them to remain in good condition and be more easily tilled. Lime causes the fine particles to flocculate, or to become granular, _i. e._, several particles unite to form a larger particle, and these combinations are more stable and do not so readily puddle, or run together. A mud-puddle in clay soil will remain murky until the water has evaporated entirely. Let a little water-slaked lime be mixed with the muddy water, and the particles of clay will be flocculated and will settle to the bottom; thus the water will become clear.

_Experiment No. 5._--Into two glasses of water put some fine clay soil; thoroughly stir the mixture (Fig. 35). Into one glass thus prepared put a spoonful of water-slaked lime; stir thoroughly, then allow both glasses to remain quiet that the soil may settle. Notice in which glass the water first becomes clear, and note the appearance of the sediment in each.

THE MOISTURE IN THE SOIL.

In Leaflet VI has been given the history of a thunder shower. We are not told much about the history of the water after it reaches the earth. If we go out immediately after a heavy shower, we find little streams running alongside the road. These little streams unite to make larger ones, until finally the creeks and rivers are swollen, and, if the rain was heavy enough, the streams may overflow their banks. In all these streams, from the smallest to the largest, the water is muddy. Where did this mud come from? It was washed largely from the cultivated fields, and the finest and best soil is certain to be the first to start on its voyage to the valleys or to the sea. If the farmer had only learned better the lesson from nature and kept his fields covered with plants, a large part of the loss might have been prevented. A rain gauge should be kept in every school yard, so that every shower can be measured. It can then be easily determined by the pupils how many tons of rain fall upon the school grounds, or how much falls upon an acre of land. It will be a matter of surprise that the amount is so great.

[Illustration: _Fig. 36. a. Soil too dry. b. Soil in good condition. c. Soil too wet._]

Not all the water which falls during a summer shower is carried off by surface drainage, since a considerable part sinks into the soil. As it passes down, each soil grain takes up a portion and surrounds itself with a little film of water, much as does a marble when dipped into water. If the rain continues long enough, the soil will become saturated and the water which cannot be retained, will, under the influence of gravity, sink down to the lower layers of soil until it finally reaches the level of the free water. From this free water, at varying depths in the soil, wells and springs are supplied. If the soil were to remain long saturated, seeds would not germinate, and most cultivated plants would not grow because all the air passages of the soil would be filled with water (Fig. 36). The water which sinks down deep into the soil and helps to supply our wells is called free water. That part which is held as a film by the soil particles (as on a marble) is called capillary water. After the rain is over and the sun shines, a part of the moisture which is held by the particles near the surface is lost by evaporation. The moisture which is below tends to rise to restore the equilibrium; thus there is created a current toward the surface, and finally into the air; the moisture which thus escapes aids in forming the next thunder storm.

_Experiment No. 6._--Humus enables the soil to take up and hold large quantities of water. To illustrate this, two samples of soil should be obtained, one a humus, or alluvial, soil, rich in organic matter, and the other a sandy soil. Put the two samples where they will become thoroughly air dry. Procure, say five pounds each of the dry soils, and put each into a glass tube over one end of which there is tied a piece of muslin, or fine wire gauze. From a graduated glass pour water slowly upon each sample until the water begins to drain from the bottom of the tube. In this way it can be shown which soil has the greater power of holding moisture. Both samples should then be set away to dry. By weighing the samples each day, it can be determined which soil has the greater power of retaining moisture. This experiment may be conducted not only with sand and humus, but with clay, loam, gravel, and all other kinds of soil.

_Experiment No. 7._--A finely pulverized soil will hold more film-moisture than a cloddy soil. To illustrate the importance of texture as related to moisture, soil should be secured which is cloddy, or lumpy. One tube should be filled, as heretofore described (Exp. No. 6), with the lumpy soil, and the other tube with the fine soil which results from pulverizing the lumps, equal weights of soil being used in each case. From a graduated glass pour water upon each sample until the drainage begins from the bottom. Notice which soil possesses greater power of absorbing moisture. Put the samples away to dry, and by careful weighing, each day, it can be determined which soil dries out more readily.

[Illustration: _Fig. 37. "Foot-prints on the sands of time."_]

[Illustration: _Fig. 38. A cross section through one of the foot-prints._]

The prudent farmer will take measures to prevent the escape of this moisture into the air. All the film-moisture (on the soil particles) needs to be carefully conserved or saved, for the plants will need very large amounts of moisture before they mature, and they can draw their supply only from this film-moisture. We can again apply the lesson learned in the woods. The soil there is always moist; the leaves form a cover, or blanket, which prevents the evaporation of moisture. Underneath an old plank or board, the soil will be found moist. If we can break the connection between the soil and the air, we can check the escape of moisture. A layer of straw over the soil will serve to prevent the loss of moisture; yet a whole field cannot be thus covered. It has been found that the surface soil, if kept loose, say about three inches of the top soil can be made to act as a blanket or covering for the soil underneath. Although this top layer may become as dry as dust, yet it prevents the escape, by evaporation, of moisture from below. It is a matter of common observation that if tracks are made across a freshly cultivated field, the soil where the tracks are will become darker (Fig. 37). This darker appearance of the soil in the foot-marks is due to the moisture which is there rising to the surface. The implement of tillage makes the soil loose, breaking the capillary connection between the lower layers of soil and the surface; thus the upward passage of the water is checked. Where the foot-print is, the soil has been again pressed down at the surface, the particles have been crowded closer together, and capillarity is restored to the surface so that the moisture is free to escape (Fig. 38). In caring for flower-beds, or even in growing plants in a pot in the school-room, it is important that the surface of the soil be kept loose and mellow. Far better in a flower garden is a garden rake than a watering pot.

_Experiment No. 8._--To show the importance of the surface mulch, fill several pots with a sandy loam soil, putting the same weight of soil into each pot. In one pot, pack the soil firmly; in another pot, pack the soil firmly and then make the surface loose. These pots of soil may then be put away to dry; by daily weighing each it can be readily determined what effects the various methods of treatment have upon the moisture-holding power of soils.

_Experiment No. 9._--The above experiment may be varied by covering the soil in some of the pots with leaves, or straw, or paper, care being taken that the added weight of the foreign matter is properly accounted for.

SOIL TEMPERATURE.

[Illustration: _Fig. 39. The moss-grown lawn or grass plot._]

If a kernel of corn be placed in the ground in early spring before the soil has become warm, the seed will not germinate. Abundance of moisture and oxygen may be present, but the third requisite for germination, proper temperature, is lacking. The soil is very slow to become warm in the spring, and this is due to the large amount of water which must be evaporated. During the winter and spring, the rain and melting snow have saturated the soil. The under-drainage is deficient so there is no way for the escape of the surplus water except by evaporation, and evaporation is a cooling process. A well-drained soil is thus warmer than a poorly-drained one.

The atmosphere is much quicker to respond to changes in temperature than is the soil. In the spring, the air becomes warm while the soil continues cold, and the rains which fall during this time are warmed by passing through the warm air. Then in sinking through the soil the rain-water parts with some of its heat which makes the soil warmer. During mid-summer the soil becomes very warm, and it is not affected by cool nights, as is the atmosphere. Consequently as a summer rain may be several degrees cooler than the soil, the water in passing through the soil takes up some of the heat; thus the soil conditions are made more favorable for plant growth. Therefore, soil temperature is regulated somewhat by the rainfall.

_Experiment No. 10._--The color of a soil also affects its temperature, a dark soil being warmer than a light colored soil. By having thermometers as a part of the school room equipment, interesting experiments may be conducted in determining the effect of color and moisture upon the temperature of soils.

AIR IN THE SOIL.

Although that part of the plant which we can see is entirely surrounded by air, it is also necessary that the soil be in such a condition that it can be penetrated by the air. Indeed, growth cannot begin in a soil from which the air is excluded.

[Illustration: _Fig. 40. The clover roots penetrate the soil deeply._]

_Experiment No. 11._--To prove this, put clay soil in a pot and plant seeds; then wet the surface of the soil and puddle or pack the clay while wet and watch for the seeds to germinate and grow. At the same time put seeds in another pot filled with loose, mellow, moist soil.

Frequently, after the farmer has sown his grain, there comes a heavy, beating rain, and the surface of the soil becomes so packed that the air is excluded and the seeds cannot germinate. If plants are grown in pots and the water is supplied at the top, the soil may become so hard and compact as to exclude the air and the plants will make a sickly growth. The surface soil must be kept loose so that the air can penetrate it.

[Illustration: _Fig. 41. After the clover dies the soil is in better condition for its having lived._]

On many lawns it may be noticed that the grass is not thriving. It has a sickly appearance, and even the application of fertilizer does not seem to remedy the conditions. Perhaps the ground has become so hard that the air cannot penetrate and the grass is being smothered. If the surface of the soil can be loosened with a garden rake, and clover seed sown, much good may be accomplished. The clover is a tap-rooted plant, sending its main root deep into the soil.

After the death of the plant, the root decays, and the nitrogen which is stored in it can be used as food by the other plants. Most useful of all, however, in such cases, the decay of the tap-root of the clover makes a passage deep into the soil and thus allows the air to enter. Consult Figs. 39-41.

LEAFLET X.

THE BROOK.[12]

BY J. O. MARTIN.

INTRODUCTION BY L. H. BAILEY.

[12] Nature-Study Quarterly, No. 5: Leaflet 18. June, 1900.

[Illustration]

A brook is the best of subjects for nature-study. It is near and dear to every child. It is a world in itself. It is an epitome of the nature in which we live. In miniature, it illustrates the forces which have shaped much of the earth's surface. Day by day and century by century, it carries its burden of earth-waste which it lays down in the quiet places. Always beginning and never ceasing, it does its work as slowly and as quietly as the drifting of the years. It is a scene of life and activity. It reflects the sky. It is kissed by the sun. It is caressed by the winds. The minnows play in the pools. The soft weeds grow in the shallows. The grass and the dandelions lie on its sunny banks. The moss and fern are sheltered in the nooks. It comes one knows not whence; it flows one knows not whither. It awakens the desire of exploration. It is a realm of mysteries. It typifies the flood of life. It goes "on forever."

In many ways can the brook be made an adjunct of the school-room. One teacher or one grade may study its physiography; another its birds; another may plat it. Or one teacher and one grade may devote a month or a term to one phase of it. Thus the brook may be made the center of a life-theme.

L. H. B.

I. A BROOK AND ITS WORK.

On a rainy day most of us are driven indoors and thus we miss some of nature's most instructive lessons, for in sunshine or rain the great mother toils on, doing some of her hardest labor when her face is overcast with clouds. Let us find our waterproofs, raise our umbrellas, bid defiance to the pattering rain, and go forth to learn some of the lessons of a rainy day.

[Illustration: _Fig. 42. The brook may be made the center of a life-theme._]

Along the roadside, the steady, down-pouring rain collects into pools and rills, or sinks out of sight in the ground. The tiny streams search out the easiest grade and run down the road, digging little gullies as they go. Soon these rills meet and, joining their muddy currents, flow on with greater speed down the hillside until they reach the bottom of the valley and go to swell the brook which flows on, through sunshine or rain. The water which sinks into the ground passes out of sight for a time, but its journey is also downward toward the brook, though the soil, acting as a great sponge, holds it back and makes it take a slower pace than the rushing surface water. This slower-moving underground water percolates through the soil until it comes to a layer of rock, clay, or other impervious substance, along the slope of which it flows until it is turned again to the surface in the form of a spring. Perhaps this spring is one of those clear, cold pools, with the water bubbling up through its sandy bottom, from which we love to drink on a hot summer's day; or, again, it is a swampy spot on the hillside where the cat-tails grow. In whatever form it issues from the ground, a tiny rill carries away its overflow, and this sooner or later joins the brook.

The brook, we see, is simply the collected rainfall from the hillsides, flowing away to join the river. It grows larger as other brooks join it, and becomes a creek and finally a river. But where is the dividing line between brook, creek, and river? So gradually does the brook increase in volume that it would be difficult to draw any dividing line between it and the larger streams. And so with the rills that formed the brook: each is a part of the river, and the names rill, brook, creek, and river are merely relative terms.

Brooks are but rivers on a small scale; and if we study the work that a brook is doing, we shall find it engaged in cutting down or building up, just as the river does, although, owing to the smaller size of the brook, we can see most of these operations in a short distance. Let us take our way through the wet grass and dripping trees to the brookside and see what work it is doing.

The countless rain-born rills are pouring their muddy water into the brook and to-day its volume is much greater than when it is fed, as it is in fair weather, by the slower-moving underground water of the springs. It roars along with its waters no longer clear but full of clay and sand ("mud" as we call it).

If we should dip up a glassful of this muddy water, we should find that when it had settled there remained on the bottom of the glass a thin deposit of sediment. The amount of this sediment is small, no doubt, for a single glassful, but when we think of the great quantity of water constantly flowing by, we can see that considerable sediment is going along with it. But this sediment in suspension is not all the load that the brook is moving. If you will roll up your sleeve, plunge your hand to the bottom of the brook and hold it there quietly, you will feel the coarser gravel and small stones rolling along the bottom.

All this load of sand and gravel comes, as we have seen, from the valley sides, the banks of the brook, and from its bed. It is moving downward away from its original resting place; and what is the result? For thousands upon thousands of years, our brook may have been carrying off its yearly load of sediment; and though each day's labor is small, yet the added toil of centuries has been great. The result of this labor we can see in the great trough or valley through which the brook flows. Tennyson speaks of the ceaseless toil of the brook in the following words:

"I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever."

[Illustration: _Fig. 43. A brook cutting under its bank and causing a landslide._]

We have seen how the rills and torrents bring into the brook their loads of sand, clay, and gravel; now let us walk along the bank and see what the brook is doing to increase this load. Just here there is a sudden turn in the channel and so sharp is the curve that the rushing stream is not able to keep in mid-channel, but throws itself furiously against the outer bank of the curve, eating into the clay of which it is composed, until the bank is undermined, allowing a mass of clay to slide down into the stream bed, where it is eaten up and carried away by the rushing water (Fig. 43). Farther on, the brook dashes down a steep, rocky incline, and if we listen and watch we may hear the thud of boulders hurled along, or even see a pebble bound out of the muddy foaming water. These moving pebbles strike against each other and grind along the bottom, wearing out themselves as well as the large unmovable boulders of the rocky bed of the brook. Thus the larger stones are ground down, rounded at first but in time reduced to sand, adding in this way to the moving burden of the brook. By this slow process of cutting and grinding, the deep rock gorges of New York state, like those at Watkins, Ithaca, Au Sable Chasm, and even the mighty gorge of Niagara, have been made. The Grand Canyon of the Colorado, over a mile in depth, is one of the greatest examples of stream cutting to be found in the world.

[Illustration: _Fig. 44. A pile of brook debris deposited by the checking of the current._]

Now the brook leads us into a dripping woodland, and just ahead we can hear the roar of a little waterfall, for at this point the cutting stream flows upon the bed rock with its alternating bands of hard and soft rock through which the busy brook is cutting a miniature gorge. Here is a hard layer which the stream has undermined until it stands out as a shelf, over which the water leaps and falls in one mass with a drop of nearly ten feet. Watch how the water below boils and eddies; think with what force it is hammering its stone-cutting tools upon the rocky floor. Surely here is a place where the brook is cutting fast. Notice that swirling eddy where the water is whirling about with the speed of a spinning top; let us remember this eddy and when the water is lower we will try to see what is happening at its bottom.

On the other side of the woods our brook emerges into a broad meadow; let us follow it and see what becomes of its load, whether it is carried onward, or whether the tired brook lays it down occasionally to rest. Out of the woods, the brook dashes down a steep incline until the foaming tide comes to rest in a deep pool. What becomes of the large pebbles which have been swept down? Do they go on or do they stop? If you go to the outlet of the pool you will see that the water is coming out with nothing in its grasp but the fine clay and sand, the gravel and pebbles having been dropped by the less rapid current of the pool. This is one of the most important of the brook's lessons, for anything that tends to check the current makes it drop some of the sediment that it carries (Fig. 44). Yonder is an old tree stump with its crooked roots caught fast on the bottom; the mid-stream current rushes against it only to be thrown back in a boiling eddy, and the waters split in twain and flow by on either side with their current somewhat checked. In the rear of the stump is a region of quiet water where the brook is building up a pile of gravel. Farther on, the banks of the brook are low and here the waters no longer remain in the channel, but overflow the low land, spreading out on either side in a broad sheet. The increased friction of this larger area reduces the current, and again we see the brook laying down some of its load. The sand and gravel deposited here is spread out in a flat plain called a _flood plain_, because it is built up when the stream is in flood. It is on the large flood plains of rivers that many of our richest farm lands occur. These receive, each spring when the stream is in flood, a fresh coating of soil mixed with fragments of vegetable matter, and thus grow deeper and richer year by year. The flood plains of the Mississippi and of the Nile are notable examples of this important form of stream deposit.

[Illustration: _Fig. 45. A delta built by a tiny rill flowing from a steep clay bank._]

And now let us make one more rainy-day observation before going back to our warm, dry homes. Just ahead on the other side of that clump of alders and willows lies the pond into which the brook flows and where its current is so checked that it gives up almost all its burden of sediment. Close to the shore it has dropped its heaviest fragments, while the sand and clay have been carried farther out, each to be dropped in its turn, carefully assorted as to size and weight. Here you can see that the stream has partly filled this end of the pond, and it is now sending its divided current out over the deposit which it has made in a series of branching rivulets. This deposit is called a _delta_ (Fig. 45), and deltas are another important form of stream deposits. In the lakes and ponds, deltas may grow outward until the lake is filled, when the stream will meander across the level plain without much current and hence without much cutting power (Fig. 46). In the sea, great deltas are being formed in some places, like those at the mouths of the Mississippi, the Nile, and the Ganges. Large areas of dry land have thus been built. Deltas, like flood plains, afford rich farming lands when they are built high enough to remain above the water.

[Illustration: _Fig. 46. A brook flowing across a pond which has been filled._]

Here let us end our study of the brook for to-day, and wait until the rain ceases and the water runs clear again; then we can see the bottom and can also learn by contrast how much more work the brook has been doing to-day than it does when the volume of water is less.

On the road home, however, we can notice how the temporary streams, as well as the everflowing brook, have been cutting and depositing. See where this tiny rill has run down that steep clay bank until its current was checked at the foot. Notice how it has spread out its sediment in a fan-shaped deposit. This form of deposit is sometimes made by larger streams, especially in a mountainous country with plains at the foot of the slopes. They are called _alluvial fans_ or _cone deltas_ (Fig. 47), but they are not as important as flood plains and deltas.

[Illustration: _Fig. 47. A brook building a delta into a lake. Formerly the brook flowed straight ahead, but its own delta has caused it to change its direction._]

The first dry, sunny morning that comes we visit the brook again. It no longer roars, but its clear waters now sing a pleasant melody as they ripple along the stony bed. We can see at a glance that comparatively little work is going on to-day, and yet if we look closely, we shall see glittering particles of sand moving along the bottom. The clear water, however, allows us to study the bottom which before was hidden by the load of mud.

First we see the rounded boulders and pebbles of all sizes which must have been rolled about for a long time to make them so smooth. Some of them are so very hard that we cannot even scratch them with our knives; others are soft and easily broken. What would be the effect of rolling together stones of such varying hardness? We must think of these stones as the tools with which the brook cuts and grinds, for water without sediment can do little more than slightly to dissolve the rock.

Let us go at once to the little waterfall, for we shall be curious to see what lies at the bottom of the whirling eddy that drew our attention yesterday. As we look down into the sunlit pool we see that the eddy is gone, for the volume of water is not great enough to cause it to revolve, but there in the rock on the bottom is a deep basin-like hole. In the bottom of this hole we shall see a number of well-rounded stones, with perhaps some sand and gravel. These stones are the tools which, whirled about by the eddying water, have cut the basin-like holes. Holes of this sort are common in rocky stream beds, especially in the neighborhood of falls or in places where falls have once been; they are called _pot-holes_ and represent another form of stream cutting (Fig. 48).

[Illustration: _Fig. 48. A pot-hole cut in the rock of a stream's bed._]

Next let us visit the flood plains which we saw forming when the water was high. Now we shall find the brook flowing in its channel with the flood plain deposits left high and dry. If we dig down into the flood plain, we shall see that it is made up of successive layers varying in thickness and in the size of the fragments. Each of these layers represents a period of high water and the size of the fragments in the layer tells us something of the strength of the current, and therefore of the intensity of the flood. Some layers are thicker than others, showing a longer period of flood, or perhaps several floods in which there was little variation. This _stratification_, as it is called, is one of the peculiarities of water deposits and it is due to the assorting power of currents which vary in force. If we were to cut into the delta we should find the same thing to be true,--a regular succession of layers, though sometimes confused by changes in direction of flow.

To-day we shall notice something which escaped our attention when it was held by the rushing torrent--the valley bottom is much wider than the bed of the stream; if we keep our eyes open we shall see the explanation of this in the abandoned channels, where, owing to some temporary obstructions, the stream has been turned from side to side of the valley, now cutting on one bank and now on the other. In this turning from side to side the cutting area of the stream is increased, and it goes on widening its valley as well as cutting it downward.

And now we have learned some of the most important ways in which the busy brook is toiling; but there are other points which we might have seen, and in some brooks there are special features to be noted. However, we have learned that the brook is no idler, that its main work is to conduct to the ocean the rain that falls upon the earth's surface, and that in doing this it is wearing down the hills, carrying them away only to build up in other places. The cheerful song of the brook takes on a new meaning as we lie in the shade and watch it hurry by. It is not the song of idleness nor of pleasure, but like the song with which a cheerful and tireless worker seeks to make its task lighter.

LEAFLET XI.

INSECT LIFE OF A BROOK.[13]

BY MARY ROGERS MILLER.

[13] Nature-Study Quarterly, No. 5: Leaflet 18, June, 1900.

[Illustration]

What wader, be he boy or water-fowl, has not watched the water-insects? How they dart hither and thither, some skimming the surface, others sturdily rowing about in the clear shallows! The sunlight fastens, for an instant, their grotesque reflections on the smooth bottom, then away--the shadow is lost, except for the picture it left in the memory of the onlooker.

The splashing, dashing wader, with his shout and his all-disturbing stick, stands but a poor chance of making intimate acquaintances among water-folk. Your true brook-lover is a quiet individual except when occasion demands action. The lad who, from the vantage ground of a fallen log or overhanging bank, looks down on the housekeeping affairs of his tiny neighbors has the right spirit. Indeed, I doubt whether these little folk are aware of his presence or curiosity.

Time was when the enjoyment of brook-life was limited to boys. White aprons, dainty slippers and fear of being called "Tom-boy" restrained the natural impulses of the "little women." Happily that day is past, and it no longer looks queer for girls to live in the open air and sunshine, free to chase butterflies and hunt water-bugs with their brothers.

My brooks abound in swift eddies, perfect whirlpools in miniature, and water-falls of assorted sizes. They have also their quiet reaches, where whirligig beetles perform their marvelous gyrations, and bright-eyed polliwogs twirl their tails in early May. On the banks are ferns and mosses; sometimes willows and alders form a fringing border.

The heart-leaved willows along many brooksides are found to bear at the tips of many of their branches, knob-like bodies which look like pine cones. (Fig. 49.) Now everybody knows that willows bear their seeds in catkins. Why, then, should so many brookside willows thrust these cones in our faces? On cutting one of the cones open, we learn the secret. A tiny colorless grub rolls helplessly out of a cell in the very centre of the cone. It is the young of a small gnat, scarcely larger than a mosquito, and known as a "gall gnat." The cone-shaped body on the willow branch is called a "pine-cone willow-gall." The little gray gnat comes out in the spring. Any one can collect the galls from the willows and keep them in some kind of cage in the house until the gnats come forth.

[Illustration: _Fig. 49. Knob-like bodies resembling pine cones._]

The pine-cone gall is an enlarged and deformed bud. The twig might have developed into a branch but for the presence of the little larva. The scales of the cone are the parts which under more favorable conditions would have been leaves. The brook-lover cannot afford to miss the pine-cone willow-galls.

Wandering along the brookside in spring or early summer, one is surprised to find so many insect visitors darting about in the air. There are dragon-flies of many shapes, sizes and colors; dainty damsel-flies perch airily on reeds, their gleaming wings a-flutter in the sunshine; sometimes a nervous mud-wasp alights for a moment, and then up and away. The dragon-flies seem intent on coming as near to the water as possible without wetting their wings. They pay no heed to other visitors, yet how easily they escape the net of the would be collector! Let them alone. Their business is important if we would have a new generation of dragon-flies to delight the eye next year. The eggs of these creatures are left in the water and the young ones are aquatic. If you would know more of them, dip down into the stream in some sluggish bay. Dip deep and trail the net among the water plants. Besides dragon-fly nymphs there will be caddice-worm cases like tiny cob-houses, water-boatmen, back-swimmers, and giant water-bugs.[14] These are insects characteristic of still or sluggish water, and are found in spring and summer.

[14] These and other forms found in still or slow flowing water are described and pictured in Leaflet No. XII, Life in an Aquarium.

[Illustration: _Fig. 50. Water-striders have long, thin legs._]

The insects which skip lightly over the surface of the water where the current is not too strong, are water-striders. (Fig. 50.) Some are short and stout, others slender-bodied; but all have long thin legs. Their color is nearly black. As they scurry about in the sunshine the delighted watcher will sometimes catch a glimpse of their reflections on the bottom. Six oval bits of shadow, outlined by rims of light; there is nothing else like it! Be sure you see it.

[Illustration: _Fig. 51. The dobson makes no pretensions to beauty. (Natural size)._]

Let us leave the quiet, restful pools and the sluggish bays, and follow the hurrying water to the rapids. Every stone changes the course of the current and the babble makes glad the heart of the wayfarer. Let us "leave no stone unturned," until we have routed from his favorite haunt that genius of the rapids, the dobson. (Fig. 51.) These creatures bear other common names. They are prized by fishermen in the black bass season. Dirty brown in color and frankly ugly in appearance and disposition, these larvæ, for such they are, have little to fear from the casual visitor at the water's edge. When a stone is lifted, the dobsons beneath it allow themselves to be hurried along for some distance by the current. The danger over, they "catch hold" and await their prey farther down stream. In spite of their vicious looking jaws these insects are not venomous. At the very worst they could do no more than pinch the finger of the unwary explorer.

[Illustration: _Fig. 52. May-fly nymph._ (_Three times natural size_).]

When the dobson is full grown, it is called a hellgrammite fly or horned corydalis. It has lost none of its ugliness, though it has gained two pairs of thin, brownish-gray wings, and flies about in the evening. It has been known to create some consternation by flying in at an open window. It is harmless and short-lived in the adult stage.

Upturned stones are likely to bring to view other strangers. Lying close against these wet stony surfaces one usually finds young May-flies. (Fig. 52.[15]) These, like the young dragon-flies, are called _nymphs_.

[15] Figures 52, 53 and 54 are adapted from Dr. R. Leuckart's Zoological Charts.

When they are ready to leave the water they make their way to the shore, and, clinging to some convenient tree trunk or building, they shed their nymph skins. I have seen trees and buildings on the banks of the St. Lawrence river literally covered with these cast skins. In the early morning in June and July one may watch the molting process, the unfolding of the gauzy wings, and the unsheathing of the long filaments. (Fig. 53.)

Do not believe that May-flies are harmful. They are sometimes too numerous for comfort at summer resorts where myriads of them swarm about the lights; but stories of their stinging and biting are entirely without foundation. They are short-lived in the adult stage. The name of the family to which they belong, _Ephemeridæ_, suggests their ephemeral existence. It is of these that poets have sung.

Stone-fly nymphs, also, cling closely to the flat stones. The cast skins of these are frequently found on the banks of streams. They resemble the May-fly nymphs but can be identified by a comparison with these illustrations. (Fig. 54.)

Sometimes on the very brink of a cataract one will see what appear like patches of loose black moss. Strangely enough, these are the larvæ of black-flies, related to the terrible black-fly of the north woods. The black-fly larvæ can live only in the swiftest water. There they pass through their transformations and succeed in emerging into their aërial stage, in spite of the rushing current.

[Illustration: _Fig. 53. The May-fly sheds its nymph skin._ (_Twice natural size._)]

All these things and many more are seen by those who frequent the water brooks. Observers cannot tell all they see, for some things are too deep for words. They can and do say to one and all, "Come, let us visit the brook together. The water and all that dwell in it and round about, invite us and make us welcome."

[Illustration: _Fig. 54. Stone-fly, showing one pair of wings. The lower figure is a nymph._ (_Twice natural size._)]

LEAFLET XII.

LIFE IN AN AQUARIUM.[16]

BY MARY ROGERS MILLER.

[16] Teachers' Leaflet No. 11. May, 1898.

[Illustration]

There is no more fascinating adjunct to nature-study than a well-kept aquarium. It is a never-ending source of enjoyment, interest and instruction to students of any age. Children in the kindergarten or at home will watch with delight the lively occupants, which cut all sorts of queer capers for their amusement, and older people may read some of nature's choicest secrets through the glassy sides of the little water world. To many, the word aquarium suggests a vision of an elaborately constructed glass box, ornamented with impossible rock-work and strange water plants, or a globe in which discouraged and sickly-looking gold-fish appear and disappear, and take strange, uncanny shapes as they dart hither and thither.

Such forms of aquaria have their place in the world, but they are not suited to the needs of an ordinary school-room. Every school may have some sort of an aquarium if the teacher and pupils are willing to give it some daily thought and care. Without such attention a fine aquarium may become an unsightly and disagreeable object, its inhabitants unhealthy and its beauty and usefulness lost.

The great fundamental principle underlying success in making and maintaining an aquarium is this: _imitate nature_. We all know how much easier it is to formulate a principle, and even to write a book about it, than to put it into practice. Most of us have not had the time and opportunity for the close observation of nature necessary to interpret her methods and to imitate her. It is to those teachers who are anxious to learn what nature has to teach and who wish to lead their pupils to a higher and wider conception of life, that these suggestions are offered.

Four things are important in making and keeping an aquarium:

1. The equilibrium between plant and animal life must be secured and maintained. It is probable that an aquarium in an elementary school is mainly used for the study of animal life; but animals do not thrive in water where no plants are growing. Nature keeps plants and animals in the same pond and we must follow her lead. The plants have three valuable functions in the aquarium. First, they supply food for the herbivorous creatures. Second, they give off a quantity of oxygen which is necessary to the life of the animals. Third, they take up from the water the harmful carbonic acid gas which passes from the bodies of the animals. Just how the plants do this is another story.

[Illustration: _Fig. 55. A museum-jar aquarium. (More animal life would make a better equilibrium._)]

2. The aquarium must be ventilated. Its top should be broad and open. Every little fish, snail and insect wants air, just as every boy and girl wants it. A certain quantity of air is mixed with the water, and the creatures must breathe that or come to the surface for their supply. How does Mother Nature manage the ventilation of her aquaria,--the ponds and streams? The plants furnish part of the air, as we have said. The open pond, whose surface is ruffled by every passing breeze, is constantly being provided with fresh air. A tadpole or a fish can no more live in a long-necked bottle than a boy can live in a chimney.

3. The temperature should be kept between 40° and 50° Fahr. Both nature and experience teach us this. A shady corner is a better place for the aquarium than a sunny window on a warm day.

4. It is well to choose such animals for the aquarium as are adapted to life in still water. Unless one has an arrangement of water pipes to supply a constant flow of water through the aquarium, it is better not to try to keep creatures that we find in swift streams.

Practical experience shows that there are certain dangers to guard against,--dangers which may result in the unnecessary suffering of the innocent. Perhaps the most serious results come from overstocking. It is better to have too few plants or animals than too many of either. A great deal of light, especially bright sunlight, is not good for the aquarium. A pond that is not shaded soon becomes green with a thick growth of slime or algæ. This does not look well in an aquarium and is likely to take up so much of the plant-food that the other plants are "starved out." The plants in the school-room window may provide shade for the aquarium, just as the trees and shrubs on its banks shade the pond. If we find green slime forming on the light side of our miniature pond, we should put it in a darker place, shade it heavily so that the light comes in from the top only, and put in a few more snails. These will make quick work of the green slime, since they are fond of it, if we are not.

[Illustration: _Fig. 56. A rectangular glass aquarium._]

Some of the most innocent-looking "water nymphs" may be concealing habits that we can hardly approve. There are some which feed on their smaller and weaker neighbors, and even on the members of their own families. We know that such things go on in nature, but if we wish to have a happy family we must keep the cannibals by themselves.

After an aquarium has been filled with water and the inhabitants well established, it is not necessary to change the water, except in case of accident. The water that is lost by evaporation has to be replaced. It should be poured in gently in order not to disturb the water and destroy its clearness. If a piece of rubber tubing is available, a practical use of the siphon can be shown and the aquarium replenished at the same time. It is a good plan to use rain water, or clear water from a pond, for this purpose.

A piece of thin board or a pane of glass may be used as a cover to keep the dust out of the aquarium. This need not fit tightly or be left on all the time. A wire netting or a cover of thin cotton net would keep the flying insects from escaping, and it might be tied on permanently. Dust may be skimmed off the top of the water or may be removed by laying pieces of blotting paper on the surface for a moment.

If any of the inhabitants do not take kindly to the life in the aquarium, they can be taken out and kept in a jar by themselves--a sort of fresh air and cold water cure. If any chance to die they ought to be removed before they make the water unfit for the others. Bits of charcoal in the water are helpful if a deodorizer or disinfectant is needed.

[Illustration: _Fig. 57. A home-made aquarium._]

Experience, the dear but thorough teacher, is of more value to every one of us than many rules and precepts. Nothing can rob us of the pleasure that comes of finding things out for ourselves. Much of the fun as well as much of the success in life comes from overcoming its difficulties. One must have a large store of patience and courage and hopefulness to undertake the care of an aquarium. After it is once made it is less trouble to take care of than a canary or a pet rabbit. But most things that are worth doing require patience, courage and hopefulness, and if we can add to our store of any of these by our study of life in an aquarium we are so much the better for it.

Two kinds of aquaria will be found useful in any school. Permanent ones--those which are expected to continue through a season or through a whole year if the school-room is warm enough to prevent freezing; and temporary ones--those which are for lesson hours or for the study of special forms.

If some one phase in the life of any aquatic animal is to be studied during a short period, it is well to have special temporary aquaria. Also, when a talk on some of the occupants of the larger aquarium is to be given, specimens may be placed in small vessels for the time being and returned later. For such purposes glass tumblers can be used, or small fruit jars, finger bowls, broken goblets set in blocks of wood, ordinary white bowls or dishes, tubs, pails or tanks for large fishes,--in fact any wide-mouthed vessel which is easy to get. Special suggestions will be made in connection with the study of some of the water insects and others.

A permanent aquarium need not be an expensive affair. The rectangular ones are best if large fishes are to be kept, yet they are not essential. Here, again, it is easier to write directions for the construction of a perfect aquarium than it is for the most patient teacher, with the help of the boys who are handy with tools, to put together a box of wood and glass that will not spring a leak some day and spoil everything. But failures do not discourage us; they make us only more determined. If a rectangular water-tight box is out of the question, what is the next best thing? One of the busiest laboratories in New York State has plants and animals living in jars of all shapes and sizes,--fruit jars, glass butter jars, candy jars, battery jars, museum jars, and others of like nature. There are rectangular and round aquaria of various sizes kept by all firms who deal in laboratory supplies, and if some money is to be spent, one of these is a good investment. Fig. 56 shows one of these rectangular ones, and Fig. 57 shows a round one of small size which is useful and does not cost much.

A GOOD SCHOOL AQUARIUM.

A cheap, substantial aquarium for general use may be made of glass and "angle" or "valley" tin. Pieces of glass are always handy and the tin can be had at any tin-shop. The tinsmith will know just how to cut, "angle" and solder it.

The following directions for making an aquarium of this kind are supplied us by Professor C. F. Hodge of Clark University. He has made and used them for years with great satisfaction in the university laboratory and in graded schools.

The illustration (Fig. 58, 59) shows various sizes. A good all-round size has these dimensions: 12 inches high, 15 inches long and 8 inches wide. One may use spoiled photographic plates for small desk aquaria, in which to watch the development of "wigglers," dragon-fly nymphs or other water insects. Lids of wire screen are shown on some of the aquaria in the picture (1, 2 and 3).

_To make the frame._--If the aquarium is to be 10 x 8 x 5 inches, we shall need two pieces of glass for sides 10 x 5 inches, two for ends 8 x 10, and one for bottom 8 x 5; and two strips of tin 3/4 inch wide, 28 inches long, and four strips 10-3/8 inches long. These should be angled by the tinner, and out of them we shall make the frame. The 28-inch strips should be cut with tinner's snips half way in two at 10-3/8, 5-3/8, 10-3/8 and 5-3/8 inches, cutting off the end at the last mark. This keeps the top and the bottom of the frame each in one piece. Next we bend them into shape. When the corners are well squared they should be soldered. The four 10-3/8 pieces make the vertical corners and we will solder them in place. An easy way to be sure that each angle is square is to hold it in a mechanic's square while soldering it.

[Illustration: _Figs. 58, 59. Permanent aquarium made of tin and glass._]

_To set the glass._--Lay the aquarium cement (see recipe) on evenly all around the bottom of the frame and press the bottom glass into place. Put in the sides and ends in the same way. Next carefully put a few very limber twigs into the aquarium to hold the glass against the frame till the cement takes hold. Cut off the extra cement with a knife and smooth it nicely. Cover the frame with asphaltum varnish or black lacquer. In a week it will be ready to use.

Double thick glass must be used for large aquaria.

_Cement._--Shun all resinous cements that require to be put on hot. The following is a recipe for cement used in successful angle tin aquaria, for both salt and fresh water:

10 parts, by measure, fine, dry, white sand, 10 parts plaster of Paris, 10 parts litharge, 1 part powdered resin.

Stir well together and, as wanted, mix to consistency of _stiff_ putty with _pure_ boiled linseed oil.

The formula given by the U. S. Fish Commission is recommended:

8 parts putty, 1 part red lead, 1 part litharge.

Mix, when wanted, to consistency of _stiff_ putty, with raw linseed oil.

After reading all these directions and getting the idea of an aquarium, one should think the whole matter out for himself and make it just as he wants it. Directions are useful as suggestions only. The shallow form is better for raising toads, frogs and insect larvæ; the deeper aquaria show water plants and fishes to better advantage.

INHABITANTS OF THE AQUARIUM.

[Illustration: _Fig. 60. Eel-grass._]

It is now time to begin to think about what shall be kept in the aquarium. At the bottom a layer of sand, the cleaner the better, two or three inches deep will be needed. A few stones, not too large, may be dropped in on top of this first layer, to make it more natural. The water plants come next and will thrive best if planted securely in the sand. The most difficult thing is to get the water in without stirring things up. A good way is to pour the water in a slow stream against the inside of the aquarium. The best way is to use a rubber tube siphon, but even then the water ought not to flow from a very great height. If the aquarium is large, it had better be put in its permanent place before filling.

The aquarium will soon be ready for snails, polliwogs, and what ever else we may wish to put into it. In the course of a few days the plants will be giving up oxygen and asking for carbon dioxid.

[Illustration: _Fig. 61. Duck-weed._]

_Plants that thrive and are useful in aquaria._--Many of the common marsh or pond plants are suitable. The accompanying illustrations show a few of these. Nothing can be prettier than some of these soft, delicate plants in the water. The eel-grass, or tape grass (Fig. 60), is an interesting study in itself, especially at blossoming time when the spiral stems, bearing flowers, appear.

Any who are especially interested in the life-history of this plant may read in reference books a great deal about what other observers have learned from the plant concerning its methods of growth and development. The best that we learn will be what the plant itself tells us day by day.

Some of the best reference books on both plant and animal life are found in the New York State Teachers' Library and can be obtained by teachers through the school commissioners.

[Illustration: _Fig. 62. Water plants._]

Every boy and girl who likes to taste the fresh, peppery plants which they find growing in cold springs, knows watercress. If the aquarium is not too deep, this plant will grow above the surface and furnish a resting place for some snail which, tired perhaps by its constant activity, enjoys a few minutes in the open air.

Duck-weed or duck's-meat (Fig. 61) grows on the surface, dangling its long thread-like roots in the water. A little of it is enough. Too much would keep us from looking down upon our little friends in the water.

The parrot's feather (Fig. 62, A) is an ornamental water plant that can be obtained from a florist; a plant that looks very like it grows in our ponds. It is called water-milfoil.

The water purslane, B, or the common stoneworts, _Nitella_ and _Chara_, D, E, the waterweed, F, and the horn-wort, C, appear graceful and pretty in the water. If you do not find any of these, you are sure to find others growing in the ponds in your neighborhood which will answer the purpose just as well.

[Illustration: _Fig. 63. Snail._]

_Animals that may be kept in aquaria._--_The snail._ The common pond snail with the spiral shell, either flat or conical, can be found clinging to the stems of the cat-tails or flags and to floating rubbish in ponds or swamps. If these are picked off carefully and taken home in a pail of water they will be valuable inhabitants for the aquarium. They are vegetable feeders and unless there is some green slime in the water, cabbage or lettuce leaves may be put where the snails can get them. The eggs of the snail are excellent food for fishes, and if a few could be secured for special study, their form, habits and development may be made delightful observation and drawing lessons. Snails can be kept out of the water for some time on moist earth. Land snails and slugs should be kept on wet sand and fed with lettuce and cabbage leaves. The common slug of the garden is often injurious to vegetation. It may always be tracked by the trail of slime it leaves behind it. Gardeners often protect plants from those creatures by sprinkling wood-ashes about them.

_Minnows._ Every boy knows where to find these spry little fellows. They can be collected with a dipper or net and will thrive in an aquarium if fed with earth worms or flies or other insects. If kept in small quarters where food is scarce, they will soon dispatch the other occupants of the jar. They will, however, eat bits of fresh meat. If the aquarium is large enough, it would hardly be complete without minnows.

[Illustration: _Fig. 64. Snail with conical shell._]

_Cat fish._--It will not be practicable to keep a cat fish in the permanent aquarium. If one is to be studied it can be obtained at any fish market or by angling, the latter a slow method, but one which will appeal to every boy in the class. The cat fish should be kept in a tub, tank, or large pan of water, and if not wanted for laboratory work, they might be fried for lunch, as cat fish are very good eating.

_Gold fish_ are a special delight if kept in large aquaria. These may often be obtained from dealers in the larger cities. Those who wish other fish for study should be able to get information from the New York State Fish Culturist, concerning the species that are suited to life in still water, and how to get and take care of them.

[Illustration: _Fig. 65. "Frog spawn."_]

_The clam._--If empty clam shells are plenty on the bank of some stream after a freshet, a supply of clams may be obtained by raking the mud or sand at the bottom of the stream. They can be kept in a shallow pan, and if the water is warmish and they are left undisturbed for a time, they will move about. If kept in a jar of damp sand they will probably bury themselves. They feed on microscopic plants and might not thrive in the permanent aquarium.

_Crawfish or crayfish._--These can be collected with nets from under stones in creeks or ponds. They can live very comfortably out of the water part of the time. There is small chance for the unsuspecting snail or water insect which comes within reach of the hungry jaws of the crawfish, and the temporary aquarium is the safest place for him. Many who live near the ocean can obtain and keep in sea water the lobster, a cousin of the crawfish, and will find that the habits of either will afford much amusement as well as instruction. The school boy generally knows the crawfish as a "crab."

[Illustration: _Fig. 66. A useful net for general collecting._]

_The frog._--The study of the development of the common frog is accompanied with little or no difficulty. To be sure there are some species which require two or three years to complete their growth and changes, from the egg to the adult, yet most of the changes can be seen in one year. Frogs are not at all shy in the spring, proclaiming their whereabouts in no uncertain tones from every pond in the neighborhood. The "frog spawn" can be found clinging to plants or rubbish in masses varying in size from a cluster of two or three eggs to great lumps as large as the two fists. The "spawn" is a transparent jelly in which the eggs are imbedded. Each egg is dark colored, spherical in shape, and about as large as a small pea. The eggs of the small spotted salamander are found in similar masses of jelly and look very much like the frog's eggs. If a small quantity of this jelly-like mass be secured by means of a collecting net or by wading in for it, it may be kept in a flat white dish with just enough clean, cool water to cover it, until the young tadpoles have hatched. As they grow larger a few may be transferred to a permanent aquarium prepared especially for them in a dish with sloping sides, and their changes watched from week to week through the season. The growing polliwog feeds on vegetable diet; what does the full grown frog eat?

[Illustration: _Fig. 67. The predaceous diving-beetle._]

_Insects that can be kept in aquaria._--Insects are to many the most satisfactory creatures that can be keep in aquaria. They are plentiful, easy to get, each one of the many kinds seems to have habits peculiar to itself, and each more curious and interesting than the last.

Some insects spend their entire life in the water; others are aquatic during one stage of their existence only. Those described here are a few of the common ones in ponds and sluggish streams, of the central part of the state of New York. If these cannot be found, others just as interesting may be kept instead. One can hardly make a single dip with a net without bringing out of their hiding places many of these "little people."

The predaceous diving-beetle (Fig. 67) is well named. He is a diver by profession and is a skilled one. The young of this beetle are known as "water-tigers" (Fig. 68), and their habits justify the name. Their food consists of the young of other insects; in fact it is better to keep them by themselves unless we wish to have the aquarium depopulated. When the tiger has reached his full size, his form changes and he rests for a time as a pupa; then comes forth as a hard, shiny beetle like Fig. 67.

[Illustration: _Fig. 68. A water-tiger._]

The water-scavenger beetle (Fig. 69), so called because of its appetite for decayed matter, is common in many ponds. It has, like the diving beetle, a hard, shiny back, with a straight line down the middle, but the two can be distinguished when seen together. The young of this beetle look and act something like the water-tigers, but have not such great ugly jaws.

[Illustration: _Fig. 69. A water-scavenger beetle._]

There are three other swimmers even more delightful to watch than those already mentioned. The water-boatmen (Fig. 70), with their sturdy oar-like legs and business-like way of using them, are droll little fellows. They are not so large as the back-swimmers. Fig. 71 shows a back-swimmer just in the act of pulling a stroke. These creatures swim with their boat-shaped backs down and their six legs up. We must be careful how we handle the back-swimmers, for each one of them carries a sharp bill and may give us a thrust with it which would be painful, perhaps poisonous.

[Illustration: _Fig. 70. Water-boatman._]

The water-scorpion (Fig. 72) is a queer creature living in a neighborly way with the boatmen and back-swimmers, though not so easy to find. Do not throw away any dirty little twig which you find in the net after a dip among water plants near the bottom of a stream or pond. It may begin to squirm and reveal the fact that it is no twig but a slender-legged insect with a spindle-shaped body. We may handle it without danger, as it is harmless. This is a water-scorpion, and his way of catching his prey and getting his air supply will be interesting to watch. He is not shy and will answer questions about himself promptly and cheerfully. Fig. 72 will give an idea of the size and appearance of this insect.

[Illustration: _Fig. 71. A back-swimmer._]

No water insect except the big scavenger beetle can begin to compare in size with the giant water-bug (Fig. 73). We may think at first that he is a beetle, yet the way he crosses his wings on his back proves him a true bug. In quiet ponds these giants are common enough, but the boy or girl who "bags" a full-grown one at the first dip of the net may be considered lucky.

The boatmen, back-swimmers and giants all have oars, yet are not entirely dependent on them. They have strong wings, too, and if their old home gets too thickly settled, and the other insects on which they feed are scarce, they fly away to other places. The giant water-bug often migrates at night, and is attracted to any bright light he sees in his journey. This habit has given him the popular name of "electric-light bug."

[Illustration: _Fig. 72. Water-scorpion._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 73. Giant water-bug._]

Among the insects which spend but part of their life in the water, we shall find many surprises. It made us feel queer when we learned that the restless but innocent-looking wiggler of the rain-water barrel was really the young of the too familiar mosquito. The adult mosquito leaves its eggs in tiny boat-shaped masses on the surface of stagnant water, where food will be abundant for the young which soon appear. Some time is spent by the wigglers in eating and growing before they curl up into pupæ. Insects are rarely active in the pupa stage. The mosquito is one of the very few exceptions. From these lively pupæ the full-grown mosquitoes emerge. Fig. 74 shows a small glass tumbler in which are seen the three aquatic stages of the mosquito's life and an adult just leaving the pupa skin. Nothing is easier than to watch the entire development of the mosquito, and the changes must be seen to be fully enjoyed and appreciated. It would be interesting to note the differences between the mosquitoes that come out of the small aquaria. A supply of wigglers may be kept in the permanent aquarium where they serve as food for the other insects.

[Illustration: _Fig. 74. Temporary aquarium, containing eggs, larvæ and pupæ of mosquito._]

Every child knows the dragon-fly or darning-needle, and none but the bravest of them dare venture near one without covering ears or eyes or mouth, for fear of being sewed. Many and wide-spread are the superstitions concerning this insect, and it is often difficult to bring children to believe that this creature, besides being a thing of beauty, is not only harmless but actually beneficial. If they knew how many mosquitos the darning-needle eats in a day they would welcome instead of fearing the gay creature.

The young of the dragon-fly live a groveling existence, as different as can be from that of their sun-loving parents. Their food consists of mosquito larvæ, water-fleas and the like, and their method of catching their prey is as novel as it is effective. Pupils and teacher can get plenty of good healthy entertainment out of the behavior of these awkward and voracious little mask-wearers. The first dip of the net usually brings up a supply of dragon-fly nymphs and of their more slender cousins, the damsel-fly nymphs. The latter have expanded plate-like appendages at the hind end of the body which distinguish them from the dragon-fly nymphs.

[Illustration: _Fig. 75. The life history of a dragon-fly as seen in an aquarium._]

The transformation of one of these young insects into an adult is one of the most interesting observation lessons that can be imagined for a warm spring morning. If a dragon-fly nymph should signify its intention of changing its form in my school-room, I should certainly suspend all ordinary work and attend to him alone. Each child should see if possible this wonderful transfiguration.

Floating in the water of a pond or stream one may find a little bundle of grass or weed stems, with perhaps a tiny pebble clinging to the mass. Close examination will prove this to be the "house-boat" of one of our insect neighbors, the caddice-worm. Contrasting strangely with the untidy exterior is the neat interior, with its lining of delicate silk, so smooth that the soft-bodied creature which lives inside is safe from injury. The commonest of the many forms of houses found here are those illustrated in Figs. 76 and 77. These will find all they wish to eat in a well-stocked aquarium. When full grown they will leave the water as winged creatures, like Fig. 78, and return to its depths no more.

[Illustration: _Fig. 76. Case of caddice-worm._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 77. Another caddice-worm case._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 78. Caddice-fly._]

There is surely no lack of material furnished by Mother Nature for the study of aquatic life. Every one who really believes in its usefulness can have an aquarium, and will feel well repaid for the time and effort required when the renewed interest in nature is witnessed which this close contact with living beings brings to every student. Let us take hold with a will, overcome the difficulties in the way, and teacher and pupils become students together.

LEAFLET XIII.

A STUDY OF FISHES.[17]

BY H. D. REED.

[17] Nature-Study Quarterly, No. 8: Leaflet 21. January, 1901.

[Illustration]

The first forms of animal life which attract the young naturalist's attention are doubtless the birds. These are most interesting to him because of their beautiful colors, their sweet songs, and the grace with which they fly. But who has watched the fishes in a brook or an aquarium and is not able to grant them a place, in beauty, grace and delicate coloration, equal to the birds? To be sure, fishes cannot sing, yet there are so many other interesting facts in connection with their habits and life-histories that it fully makes up for their lack of voice.

THE PARTS OF A FISH.

While observing a living fish and admiring its beauty, it will probably occur to some of us that a fish consists only of a head and tail. Yet this is not all. Between the head and tail is a part that we may call the trunk. It contains the digestive and other organs. There is no indication of a neck in a fish. Any such constriction would destroy the regular outline of the animal's body and thus retard the speed with which it moves through the water. But head, trunk and tail are not all. There are attached to the outer side of the fish's body certain appendages that are called fins.

Before discussing some of the different kinds of fishes and their habits, it will be necessary to learn something about fins, for the fins of all fishes are not alike. When a fish moves through the water, it bends its tail first to one side and then to the other. This undulatory movement, as it is called, pushes the fish's body ahead. One can observe the movements easily upon a specimen kept alive in an aquarium jar. At the extreme end of the tail there is a broad, notched fin which aids the tail in propelling and steering the body. We will call this the _tail_ or _caudal_ fin (Fig. 79 B). In most of our common fishes there are seven fins--six without the caudal. The first of these six is a large fin situated near the middle of the back. This is the _back_ or _dorsal_ fin (Fig. 79 A). Sometimes we may find a fish that has two dorsal fins. In this case the one nearest the head is called first dorsal and the next one behind it the second dorsal. Near the head, in a position corresponding to our arms, is a pair of fins which are called the _arm_ or _pectoral_ fins (Fig. 79 E). Farther back towards the tail, on the under side of the fish, is another pair, corresponding in position to the hind legs of a quadruped. This pair is called the _leg_ or _pelvic_ fins (Fig. 79 D). Just behind the pelvic fins is a single fin, situated on the middle line of the body. This is the _anal_ fin (Fig. 79 C). The pectoral and pelvic fins are called paired fins because they are in pairs. The others which are not in pairs are called median fins, because they are situated on the middle line of the body. The paired fins serve as delicate balancers to keep the body right side up and to regulate speed. They are also used to propel the body backwards. After naming the different fins of the fish in the schoolroom aquarium, it will be interesting to observe the uses of each.

[Illustration: _Fig. 79. Diagram of a fish to show: A, dorsal fin; B, caudal fin; C, anal fin; D, pelvic fins; E, pectoral fins; L, lateral line._]

On the side of the body, extending from the head to the caudal fin, is, in most fishes, a line made up of a series of small tubes which open upon the surface. This is called the _lateral line_, and acts in the capacity of a sense organ (Fig. 79 L). Is the lateral line straight or curved? Does it curve upwards or downwards? Does the curvature differ in different kinds of fishes? Do all the fishes you find possess a lateral line? Is the lateral line complete in all fishes, _i. e._, does it extend from the head to the caudal fin without a single break?

WHERE FISHES SPEND THE WINTER.

[Illustration: _Fig. 80. 1, Shiner; 2, Barred Killifish; 3, Black-nosed Dace; 4, Creek Chub; 5, Young of Large-mouthed Black Bass; 6, Varying-toothed Minnow._]

As winter approaches and the leaves fall and the ground becomes frozen, the birds leave us and go farther south into warmer climates where food is more abundant. We are all familiar with this habit of the birds, but how many of us know or have even wondered what the fishes have been doing through the cold winter months while the streams and ponds have been covered with ice? Before the warmth of spring comes to raise the temperature of the streams, let us go to some familiar place in a brook where, during the summer, are to be found scores of minnows. None are to be found now. The brook shows no signs of ever having contained any living creatures. Suppose we go farther up or down the stream until we find a protected pool the bottom of which is covered with sediment and water-soaked leaves. With our net we will dip up some of the leaves and sediment, being sure that we dip from the very bottom. On looking over this mass of muddy material we may find a fish two or three inches long, with very fine scales, a black back, a silvery belly and a blackish or brown band on the side of the body extending from the tip of the nose to the tail. This is the _Black-nosed Dace_ (Fig. 80). If specimens of this fish are caught very early in the spring, one will be able to watch some interesting color changes. As the spawning time approaches, the dark band on the sides and the fins change to a bright crimson. Sometimes the whole body may be of this gaudy color. During the summer the lateral band becomes orange. As the season goes, the bright colors gradually fade until finally, in the fall and winter, the little black-nose is again clothed in his more modest attire. A great many of the fishes, and especially the larger ones, seek some deep pond or pool in the stream at the approach of winter, and remain near the bottom. If the pond or stream is so deep that they do not become chilled they will remain active, swimming about and taking food all winter. But when the stream is very shallow and the fishes feel the cold, they settle down to the bottom, moving about very little and taking little or no food. The carp collect in small numbers and pass the winter in excavations that they make in the muddy bottom. If the débris thrown up by the water across the marshy end of a lake be raked over during the winter, one will probably find some of the smaller catfishes spending the season in a semi-dormant state.

[Illustration: _Fig. 81. The Common Catfish or Bullhead._]

Some interesting experiments may be tried with the fishes in the aquarium jar. Keep them for a few days where it is cold and then bring them into a warmer room and note the difference in their activity.

THE COMMON CATFISH OR BULLHEAD.

This sleepy old fellow differs in many respects from most of our common fishes. He has no scales. About the mouth are eight long whisker-like appendages, called barbels (Fig. 81). Perhaps he is called catfish because he has whiskers about his mouth like a cat. Any one who has ever taken a catfish from the hook probably knows that care is needed in order not to receive a painful prick from the sharp spines in his pectoral and dorsal fins.

There is nothing aristocratic about the catfish. In warm pools and streams where the water is sluggish and the muddy bottom is covered with weeds, he may be found moving lazily about in search of food. His taste is not delicate. Animal substance, whether living or dead, satisfies him. When in search of food he makes good use of his barbels, especially those at the corners of his mouth, which he uses as feelers. The catfish will live longer out of water than most of our other food fishes. They will live and thrive in water which is far too impure for "pumpkin seeds" or bass. They spawn late in the spring. The mother fish cares for her young much as a hen cares for her chickens. When they are old enough to take care of themselves, she weans them.

THE COMMON SUNFISH OR PUMPKIN SEED.

[Illustration: _Fig. 82. The common Sunfish or Pumpkin Seed._]

Some evening just at sunset visit a quiet pool in a nearby stream. Drop in your hook baited with an "angle worm" and presently the dancing cork shows that you have a "bite." On "pulling up" you find that you really have a fish. It is a beautiful creature, too--thin flat body shaped something like the seed of a pumpkin. His back is an olive green delicately shaded with blue. His sides are spotted with orange, while his belly is a bright yellow. His cheeks are orange-color streaked with wavy lines of blue. Just behind his eye on his "ear-flap" is a bright scarlet spot. This is the common _Sunfish_ or _Pumpkin Seed_ (Fig. 82). He is a very beautiful, aristocratic little fellow, "looking like a brilliant coin fresh from the mint."

Keep him alive in an aquarium jar with a shiner. Compare the two fishes, as to the size and shape of their bodies and fins. Feed them different kinds of food, such as worms, insects and crackers, and try to discover which they like best and how they eat.

The sunfishes prefer quiet waters. They lay their eggs in the spring of the year. The male selects a spot near the banks of the stream or pond where the water is very shallow. Here he clears a circular area about a foot in diameter. After making a slight excavation in the gravel or sand, the nest is completed. The eggs are then deposited by the female in the basin-like excavation. He watches his nest and eggs with great diligence, driving away other fishes that chance to come near.

THE BLACK BASSES.

[Illustration: _Fig. 83. Adult Small-mouthed Black Bass._]

The black basses are not usually found in small streams where it is most pleasant for teachers and pupils to fish. They are fishes that seek the rivers and lakes. There are two kinds of black bass, the _Large-mouthed_ and the _Small-mouthed_. As the name indicates, the two may be distinguished by the size of the mouth. In the large-mouthed black bass the upper jaw extends to a point behind the eye, while in the small-mouthed species it extends to a point just below the middle of the eye (Fig. 83).

Both kinds of black bass may be found in the same body of water. The character of the bottoms over which they are found, however, differs. The small-mouthed prefers the stony bars or shoals. The large-mouthed, on the contrary, selects a muddy bottom grown over with reeds. They feed upon crayfish ("crabs"), minnows, frogs, worms, tadpoles and insects. Our black basses are very queer parents. They prepare a nest in which the eggs are deposited. Both male and female are very courageous in the defense of their eggs and young. As soon as the young fishes are able to take care of themselves the parent fishes leave them, and after that time may even feed upon their own children.

THE STICKLEBACK.

[Illustration: _Fig. 84. A Stickleback._]

The sticklebacks are queer little fellows indeed (Fig. 84). The slender body, extremely narrow tail, and the sharp, free spines in front of the dorsal fin, give them at once the appearance of being both active and pugnacious little creatures. The sticklebacks are detrimental to the increase of other fishes since they greedily destroy the spawn and young of all fishes that come within their reach. They build nests about two inches in diameter, with a hole in the top. After the eggs are laid the male defends the nest with great bravery. The little five-spined brook stickleback in the Cayuga Lake basin, N. Y., is most commonly found in stagnant pools, shaded by trees, where the water is filled with decaying vegetable matter,--the so-called "green frog-spawn" (spirogyra), and duck weed. If you supply the sticklebacks with plenty of fine vegetable material, you may induce them to built a nest in the aquarium jar, but they must be caught and placed in the jar early in the season before they spawn.

THE JOHNNY DARTERS.

In New York State, every swift stream which has a bed of gravel and flat stones ought to contain some one of the Johnny darters, for there are a great many different kinds (Fig. 85). They are little creatures, delighting in clear water and swift currents where they dart about, hiding under stones and leaves, or resting on the bottom with their heads up-stream. The body of a darter is compact and spindle-shaped, gradually tapering from the short head to a narrow tail. The eyes are situated nearly on top of the head. The color of the darters varies greatly with the different kinds. Some are very plain, the light ground color being broken only by a few brown markings. Others are gorgeous in their colorings, it seeming as if they had attempted to reproduce the rainbow on their sides. Such kinds are indeed very attractive and are ranked with the most beautifully colored of all our common fishes. When a darter swims, he appears bird-like, for he flies through the water much as a bird flies through the air. He does not use his tail alone in swimming, as the catfish, the sunfish, the stickleback, and most of the other fishes do, but flies with his pectoral fins.

[Illustration: _Fig. 85. A Johnny Darter._]

You surely must have a Johnny darter in your aquarium jar. The Johnnies are true American fishes. Though small, they face the strong currents and eke out a living where their larger cousin, the yellow perch, would perish. There are many interesting facts which may be learned from the Johnny darters when kept alive in an aquarium. When not actually moving in the water, do the Johnnies rest on the bottom of the jar or remain suspended in the middle apparently resting on nothing, as the other aquarium fishes do? When a fish remains still in the middle of the jar he does so because he has a well-developed air-bladder to help buoy him up, and when a fish dies it is the air-bladder which causes him to turn over and rise to the top. Now if the Johnnies always rest on the bottom of the jar when not swimming and if one happens to die and does not rise to the top we may know that, if he has an air-bladder at all, it is only a vestigial one. It would be interesting also to find out for ourselves whether a Johnny darter can really "climb trees" (I mean by trees, of course, the water plants in the aquarium jar), or if he can perch upon the branches like a bird.

THE MINNOWS.

[Illustration: _Fig. 86. A convenient form of aquarium jar supplied with water plants. The bottom is covered with clean sand and flat stones._]

All the small fishes of the brooks are called minnows, or more often "minnies," by the boy fisherman. The boy believes that they grow into larger fishes. This is not true. The minnows are a distinct group of fishes and, for the most part, small ones. They do not grow to be bass or pike or sunfishes or anything else but minnows. Some of the minnows, however, are comparatively large. Two of these are the _Creek Chub_ (Fig. 80), and the _Shiner_ (Fig. 80). The chub is the king of the small brooks, being often the largest and most voracious fish found in such streams. His common diet probably consists of insects and worms, but if very hungry he does not object to eating a smaller fish. During the spawning season, which is springtime, the male chub has sharp, horny tubercles or spines developed upon the snout. We are able to recognize the creek chub by means of a black spot at the front of the base of the dorsal fin.

The shiner or red-fin has much larger scales than the chub. The back is elevated in front of the dorsal fin, giving him the appearance of a hump-back. His sides are a steel-blue with silvery reflections. While the shiner is not the largest, it is almost everywhere one of the most abundant brook fishes. In spring the lower fins of the male become reddish. Like the chub, he has small horny tubercles developed on the snout.

RANDOM NOTES.

Did you ever see a fish yawn? Watch a shiner in your aquarium. Sometimes you may see him open his mouth widely as though he was very sleepy. Again you may find him resting on the bottom of the jar taking a nap. Fishes cannot close their eyes when they sleep for they have no eyelids.

A convenient way to collect fishes for the schoolroom aquarium is to use a dip net. The ordinary insect net will do, but it is better to replace the cheese-cloth bag by a double thickness of mosquito-bar, thus enabling one to move the net through the water more rapidly. By dipping in the deep pools, among grasses and under the banks with such a net one can soon obtain fishes enough to stock an aquarium (Fig. 86). The aquarium jar should never be placed in the sun. It is better to have only three or four fishes in an aquarium at one time. Some flat stones on the bottom of the jar will afford them convenient hiding places.

For further notes on aquaria, consult Leaflet No. XII.

[Illustration]

LEAFLET XIV.

THE OPENING OF A COCOON.[18]

BY MARY ROGERS MILLER.

[18] Nature-Study Quarterly, No. 4: Leaflet 17. March, 1900.

[Illustration]

Among the commonest treasures brought into the schools by children in the fall or winter are the cocoons of our giant silk-worms. If one has a place to put them where the air is not too warm or dry, no special care will be necessary to keep them through the winter. Out-door conditions must be imitated as nearly as possible. If early in the fall one is fortunate enough to meet one of these giants out for a walk, it is the simplest thing in the world to capture him and watch him spin his marvelous winter blanket. Two members of this family of giant insects are quite common in this state, the largest the Cecropia, called sometimes the Emperor, and the Promethea.

[Illustration: _Fig. 87. Cocoon of the Cecropia moth. It sometimes hangs from a twig of a fruit tree._]

The Cecropia moth often measures five or six inches across--a veritable giant. Its main color is dusty brown, with spots and bands of cinnamon brown and white. On each wing is a white crescent bordered with red and outlined with a black line. The body is heavy and covered with thick, reddish-brown hairs, crossed near the end with black and white lines. On its small head are two large feathery feelers or antennæ. The Cecropia moth emerges from the cocoon, full grown, in early summer, when out of doors. Those kept in the house often come out as early as March. The eggs are deposited by the adults upon apple, pear, cherry, maple and other shade and fruit trees. Professor Comstock says that the spiny caterpillars which hatch from the eggs in about two weeks, are known to feed upon the leaves of some fifty species of plants. One could therefore hardly make a mistake in offering refreshment to these creatures, since they are anything but epicures. The full-grown caterpillar, having spent the summer eating and growing, with now and then a change of clothes, is often three inches long and an inch in diameter. It is a dull bluish green in color. On its back are two rows of wart-like protuberances (tubercles), some yellow, some red, some blue. As there is nothing else in nature which is just like it, one need have no difficulty in recognizing the Cecropia in its different phases.

[Illustration: _Fig. 88. End of cocoon of Cecropia, inside view, showing where the moth gets out._]

The cocoon which this giant silk-worm weaves is shown in Fig. 87. It may be found on a twig of some tree in the dooryard, but sometimes on a fence-post or equally unexpected place. Inside the cocoon the brown pupa, alive but helpless, waits for spring.

After the moth comes out it is interesting to examine the structure of the cocoon, and to discover how the moth managed to free itself without destroying the silken blanket (Fig. 88).

Swinging loosely from last summer's twigs in lilac bushes, and on such trees as wild cherry and ash, one often finds the slender cocoons of the Promethea moth (Fig. 89). We cannot help admiring the skill and care displayed by the spinner of this tidy winter overcoat. The giant silk-worm which spun it chose a leaf as a foundation. He took care to secure himself against the danger of falling by fastening the leaf to the twig which bore it by means of shining strands of silk. It is easy to test the strength of this fastening by attempting to pull it loose from the twig.

[Illustration: _Fig. 89. Cocoon of Promethea moth fastened to a twig with silk._]

The moths which come from these cocoons do not always look alike, yet they are all brothers and sisters. The brothers are almost black, while the wings of the sisters are light reddish brown, with a light gray wavy line crossing the middle of both wings. The margins of the wings are clay-colored. On each wing is a dark velvety spot. The adults emerge in spring and are most often seen in the late afternoon. Their flight is more spirited than that of the Cecropia, which moves very sedately, as becomes a giant.

[Illustration: _Fig. 90. Cocoon of Promethea, cut open lengthwise to show the valve-like device at upper end through which the adult moth pushes its way out._]

The caterpillars of this species, the young Prometheas, feed during the summer on leaves of wild cherry, ash and other trees. They grow to be about two inches long, and are distinguished from others by their pale bluish green color and yellow legs. They also have rows of wart-like elevations on their backs, some black and shining, four of a bright red and one large and yellow near the hindmost end.

* * * * *

The life of these giant insects is divided into four distinct stages: the egg, deposited by the adult moth usually on or near the food plant; the larva, or caterpillar stage, when most of the eating and all the growing is done; the pupa, passed inside the cocoon woven by the larva; and the adult, a winged moth.

The life-cycle or generation is one year, the winter being passed in the pupa stage. The insect lives but a short time in the adult stage and the egg stage is but two or three weeks. Most of the summer is devoted to the caterpillar phase of its life.

These creatures are entirely harmless. They seldom appear in numbers sufficient to make them of economic importance.

LEAFLET XV.

A TALK ABOUT SPIDERS.[19]

BY J. H. COMSTOCK.

[19] Nature-Study Quarterly, No. 9: Leaflet 22. May, 1901.

[Illustration]

Of all our little neighbors of the fields there are none that are more universally shunned and feared than spiders, and few that deserve it less. There is a wide-spread belief that spiders are dangerous, that they are liable to bite, and that their bites are very venomous. Now this may be true of certain large species that live in hot countries; but the spiders of the Northern United States are practically harmless.

It is true, spiders bite and inject venom sufficient to kill a fly into the wound made by their jaws. But they are exceedingly shy creatures, fearing man more than they are to be feared. If an observer will refrain from picking up a spider there is not the slightest danger of being bitten by one; and excepting a single uncommon species no spider is known in this part of the country whose bite would seriously affect a human being.

On the other hand, spiders do much to keep in check various insect pests, and hence must be regarded as our friends. It is, however, from a different point of view that we wish to look upon them at this time. It is as illustrations of remarkable development of instinctive powers, and of wonderful correlation of structure and habit, that we would have the reader study these creatures. The teacher of nature-study can find no more available or more fertile field from which to take subjects for interesting children in the world about us. Let us then put aside our fears and go into the fields and see whether we can learn something of the ways of these spinners.

THE FUNNEL-WEB WEAVERS.

Often on summer mornings the grass of the roadsides and fields is seen to be carpeted with little sheets of glistening silk, the webs of the grass-spider. None were observed the day before; and we wonder at the sudden appearance of this host of weavers. Later in the day the webs have vanished! Have the weavers rolled them up and carried them off? We remember that there was an especially fine one near the end of the veranda steps; we examine the place carefully and find that it is still there, but not so conspicuous as it was. The warm sun has dissipated the dew which rendered visible to our dull eyes the tapestry of the fields. Now that our eyes are opened we can find the webs everywhere and are impressed with a suspicion that perhaps ordinarily we see very little of what is around us.

We examine one of the webs carefully and find that it is a closely woven sheet made of threads running in all directions; that it is attached to spears of grass, and supported by numerous guy lines, and that from one side a funnel-like tube extends downwards. If, while we are watching, an insect alights on the sheet, there darts from the tunnel, where she was concealed, the owner of the web, a dark-colored spider; and the insect must be agile if it escapes.

If you attempt to catch the spider it retreats to its tunnel; and when you examine the tunnel the spider is not there. You find that the tube is open below, that there is a back door by which the spider can escape when hard pressed.

We call those spiders that makes webs of this kind _The Funnel-web Weavers_. They are long-legged, brown spiders, which run on the upper surface of their webs; these are usually made on grass, but sometimes they are found in the angles of buildings, and in quite high places.

THE COBWEB WEAVERS.

The webs that we most often find in the corners of rooms are of a different kind and are made by the members of a family known as _The Cobweb Weavers_. In these webs there is not such a definite sheet of silk as in those of the funnel-web weavers, but instead a shapeless maze of threads extending in all directions. Many of the cobweb weavers, however, make their webs in the fields on bushes, and weave in them a flat or curved sheet, under which the spider hangs back downward. The funnel-web weavers run right side up; the cobweb weavers hang inverted. Some of the cobweb weavers do not remain in their webs, but have a nest in a neighboring crack or corner, from which they rush to seize their prey, and sometimes there is a funnel-shaped tube leading to their nest. But these spiders differ from the true funnel-web weavers in running back downwards on the lower side of their webs.

THE ORB WEAVERS.

The spider webs that most often excite admiration are those in which the supporting threads radiate from a center like the spokes of a wheel, and bear a spiral thread. Such webs are known as orb-webs; and the family of spiders that make them, _The Orb Weavers_.

[Illustration: _Fig. 91. Nearly completed orb-web._]

Few if any of the structures built by lower animals are more wonderful than these webs; but they are so common that they are often considered hardly worthy of notice. If they occurred only in some remote corner of the earth, every one would read of them with interest.

The webs or nets of the different species of orb weavers differ in the details of their structure; but the general plan is quite similar. There is first a framework of supporting lines. The outer part of this framework is irregular, depending upon the position of the objects to which the net is attached; but the central part is very regular, and consists of a number of lines radiating from the center of the net (Fig. 91). All of these supporting lines are dry and inelastic. Touch them with your pencil and you find that they neither stretch nor adhere to it. Upon these radiating lines there is fastened in a very regular manner a thread which is sticky and elastic. This will adhere to your pencil, and will stretch several times its normal length before breaking. Usually this sticky thread is fastened to the radiating lines so as to form a spiral; but a few species make nets in which it is looped back and forth. And even in the nets where the greater part of the thread is in a spiral there are in most cases a few loops near the lower margin (Fig. 91). Examine the next orb-web you find and see whether it is true in that case.

Many of the orb weavers strengthen their nets by spinning a zigzag ribbon across the center. This ribbon is made by spreading apart the spinnerets, the organs from which the silk is spun, and which will be described later. Ordinarily the tips of the spinnerets are held close together so that they form a single thread, but by spreading them apart many threads can be spun at once, thus forming a ribbon.

Some orb weavers are not content with making a simple zigzag band across the center of the net, but weave an elaborate bit of lace in this position. Fig. 92 is from a photograph of the center of the net of one of these spiders, which was found near Ithaca.

[Illustration: _Fig. 92. Lace-like hub of an orb-web._]

In studying the various kinds of orb-webs one should pay particular attention to the center of the web; for this part differs greatly in the webs of the different species. There is usually a _hub_ composed entirely of dry and inelastic silk woven in an irregular manner; outside of this there are several turns of a spiral thread which is also dry; this constitutes the _notched zone_, a name suggested by the fact that the spiral line is attached for a short space to each radius it crosses, thus giving the line a notched course. In many cases it is here, on the hub and the notched zone, that the spider waits for its prey; and it is obvious that sticky silk in this place would be objectionable. Between the notched zone and the _spiral zone_, the part furnished with the sticky spiral thread, there is a clear space, the _free zone_, crossed only by the radii. This gives the spider an opportunity to pass from one side of the web to the other without going around the entire web.

Some orb weavers do not wait upon the hub but have a retreat near one edge of the net, in which they hang back downwards. While resting in these retreats they keep hold of some of the lines leading from the net, so that they can instantly detect any jar caused by an entrapped insect.

When an insect in its flight touches one of the turns of the sticky line the line adheres to it, but it stretches so as to allow the insect to become entangled in other turns of the line. If it were not for this elasticity of the sticky line, most insects could readily tear themselves away before the spider had time to reach them.

In running over its net the spider steps upon the radii, carefully avoiding the sticky line; otherwise it would destroy its own net. The rapidity with which a spider can cross its net without touching the sticky line is remarkable.

In making its web an orb weaver first spins a number of lines extending irregularly in various directions about the place where its orb is to be; this is the outer supporting framework. Often the first line spun is a bridge between two quite distant points, as the branches of two separate bushes. How did the spider cross the gulf? It has no wings.

[Illustration: _Fig. 93. Nearly completed orb-web._]

The bridge building can be easily seen on a warm summer evening, the time at which the spiders are most active repairing their old nets and building new ones. The spider lifts the hind end of its body and spins forth a thread; this is carried off by the wind, until, finally striking some object, it becomes fast to it. The spider then pulls in the slack line, like a sailor, and when the line is taut fastens it to the object on which it is standing, and the bridge is formed.

After making the outward framework, the radiating lines are formed. A line is stretched across the space so as to pass through the point which is to be the center of the orb. In doing this the spider may start on one side, and be forced to walk in a very roundabout way on the outer framework to the opposite side. It carefully holds the new line up behind it as it goes along, so that it shall not become entangled with the lines on which it walks; one or both hind feet serve as hands in these spinning operations; for, as the spider has eight feet, it can spare one or two for other purposes than locomotion. When the desired point is reached the slack is pulled in and the line fastened. The spider then goes to the point where the center of the orb is to be, and, fastening another line, it walks back to the outer framework, and attaches this line an inch or two from the first. In this way all of the radiating lines are drawn. The next step is to stay these radii by a spiral line, which is begun near the center, and attached to each radius as it crosses it. The turns of this spiral are as far apart as the spider can conveniently reach.

All of the threads spun up to this stage in the construction of the web are dry and inelastic. The spider now proceeds to stretch upon this framework a sticky and elastic line, which is the most important part of the web, the other lines being merely a framework to support it. In spinning the sticky line, the spider begins at the outer edge of the orb, and passing around it, fastens this line to each radius as it goes. Thus a second spiral is made. The turns of this spiral are placed quite close together, and the first spiral, which is merely a temporary support, is destroyed as the second spiral progresses. Fig. 93 represents a web in which the second spiral is made over the outer half of the radii. In this figure, _aa_ represents the temporary stayline; _bb_, the sticky spiral; and _cc_, the fragments of the first spiral hanging from the radii.

[Illustration: _Fig. 94. Wasp, with head, thorax and abdomen separated._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 95. Spider, showing division of the body into cephalothorax and abdomen._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 96. Lower side of cephalothorax of a spider;_ md_, mandible;_ mx_, maxilla;_ p_, palpus;_ l_, lower lip;_ s_, sternum._]

THE PARTS OF A SPIDER.

Spiders differ much in appearance from the true insects. In the insects the body is composed of three regions: the head; the thorax, to which the legs are attached; and the abdomen or hind part of the body (Fig. 94). In the spiders the head and thorax are grown together, forming a region which is known as the _cephalothorax_; to this the _abdomen_ is joined by a short, narrow stalk (Fig. 95). Spiders differ also from insects in the number of their legs, spiders having eight legs and insects only six.

Spiders have two pairs of jaws, which, except in the Tarantula family, move sidewise like the jaws of insects. The first pair of jaws are called the _mandibles_. Each mandible consists of two segments, a strong basal one and a claw-shaped terminal one, at the tip of which the poison gland opens (Fig. 96). The second pair of jaws is known as the _maxillæ_. These jaws are situated just behind the mandibles, one on each side of the mouth. Each maxilla bears a large feeler or _palpus_. These palpi vary greatly in form; frequently, especially in females, they resemble legs; hence many spiders appear to have five pairs of legs. In the male spiders the last segment of the palpus is more or less enlarged, ending in a complicated, knob-like structure (Fig. 97). It is thus easy to determine the sex of a spider by merely examining the palpi.

[Illustration: _Fig. 97. Maxilla and palpus of male house-spider._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 98. Head of spider, showing eyes and mandibles._]

The greater number of spiders have four pairs of eyes (Fig. 98), but there may be only one, two, or three pairs; and certain cave spiders are blind. The eyes appear like little gems set in the front of the cephalothorax. They are most prominent in the jumping spiders, which stalk their prey on plants, logs, fences, and the sides of buildings.

[Illustration: _Fig. 99. Spinnerets of a spider._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 100. A group of spinning tubes._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 101. Viscid silk from an orb-web._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 102. Spinnerets and cribellum of a curled-thread weaver._]

The most characteristic feature of spiders is their spinning organs. The silk is secreted in glands within the abdomen, and while in the body it is a fluid. It passes out through the _spinnerets_, which are situated near the hind end of the abdomen. There are two or three pairs of spinnerets. These are more or less finger-like in form, and sometimes jointed (Fig. 99). Upon the end of each spinneret there are many small tubes, the _spinning tubes_ (Fig. 100), from which the silk is spun. Some spiders have as many as one hundred and fifty or two hundred of these spinning tubes on each spinneret.

Ordinarily the tips of the spinnerets are brought close together, so that all of the minute threads that emerge from the numerous spinning tubes unite to form a single thread. Hence this tiny thread, which is so delicate that we can see it only when the light falls on it in a favorable way, is composed of hundreds of threads. It is not like a rope, composed of separate strands; for all the minute threads fuse together into a single thread. The change in the silk from a fluid to a solid cord, strong enough to support the weight of the spider, must take place quickly after the silk comes in contact with the air on leaving the spinning tubes; the minute size of the threads coming from the spinning tubes doubtless facilitates this change.

Sometimes a spider will spread its spinnerets apart, and thus spin a broad ribbon-like band. We have seen a spider seize a large grasshopper which was entangled in its web, and rolling it over two or three times, completely envelop it in a sheet of silk spun from its spread-apart spinnerets. We have already described bands spun by orb weavers across the hub of the net in this way.

It is supposed that the two kinds of silk spun by the orb weavers are spun from different spinnerets, and that the viscid silk comes from the front pair. When this silk is first spun, the viscid matter forms a continuous layer of liquid on the outside of it. But very soon this layer breaks up into bead-like masses--in a way similar to that in which the moisture on a clothes line on a foggy day collects into drops (Fig. 101).

There are two families of spiders that have spinning organs differing from those of all other spiders. They have in front of the usual spinnerets an additional organ, which is named the _cribellum_ (Fig. 102, c). This bears spinning tubes like the other spinnerets, but these tubes are much finer. These spiders have also on the next-to-the-last segment of the hind legs one or two rows of curved spines; this organ is the _calamistrum_ (Fig. 103). By means of the calamistrum these spiders comb from the cribellum a band of loose threads which form a part of their webs.

[Illustration: _Fig. 103. Last two segments of hind leg of spider, showing calamistrum._]

THE CURLED-THREAD WEAVERS.

The spiders possessing a cribellum and a calamistrum represent two families, one of which makes irregular webs; the other, those which are of definite form.

[Illustration: _Fig. 104. Web of a curled-thread weaver._]

An irregular web of a curled-thread weaver is shown in Fig. 104, from a photograph. In this web the framework is of ordinary silk; and upon this framework is placed a band of curled or tangled threads (Fig. 105). An insect alighting on a net of this kind is likely to get its feet caught in the tangled silk, and to be held fast till the spider can pounce upon it. Nets of this kind are found on bushes and on the sides of buildings.

[Illustration: _Fig. 105. Fragment of a curled-thread weaver's web, enlarged._]

There are two quite distinct types of regular webs made by spiders possessing a cribellum and a calamistrum. One is a round web which resembles at first sight those of the orb weavers; but it differs from the ordinary orb-web in that the spiral thread is made of curled or hackled silk. These webs are nearly horizontal, and are usually made between stones or in low bushes; they are not common.

[Illustration: _Fig. 106. Web of the triangle spider._]

The other type is represented by the web of the triangle spider. This web is most often found stretched between the twigs of a dead branch of pine or hemlock. At first sight it appears like a fragment of an orb-web (Fig. 106); but a little study will show that it is complete. The accompanying figure, by Dr. B. G. Wilder, who first described the habits of this spider ("Popular Science Monthly," 1875) illustrates the form of the web. It consists of four plain lines corresponding to the radiating lines of an orb-web, and a series of cross lines, which are spun by the cribellum and calamistrum. Each cross line is composed of two lines, about 1/500 of an inch apart. These double lines take the place of the curled threads woven by other members of the family to which the triangle spider belongs. From the point where the radiating lines meet, a strong line extends to one of the supporting twigs. Near this twig the spider rests, pulling the web tight so that there is some loose line between its legs, as shown in the enlarged figure. When an insect becomes entangled in one of the cross lines, the spider suddenly lets go the loose line so that the whole web springs forward, and the insect is entangled in other cross lines. The spider then draws the web tight and snaps it again. This may be repeated several times before the spider goes out upon the web after its prey.

The triangle spider is a tiny fellow, and so closely resembles the color of the dead branch near which it rests that it is very difficult to find; its web is more easily seen, though it usually requires careful searching to discover it.

THE MOTHERHOOD OF SPIDERS.

[Illustration: _Fig. 107. Egg-sac of a spider._]

As a rule young spiders are forced to shift for themselves, and a very hard time they have; but of this we have not space to write. With spiders, the mother's care is devoted chiefly to furnishing protection to her helpless eggs. These are placed in silken sacs, which are often very elaborate in construction and protected with great care.

The most common egg-sacs are those found in the fields attached to stones and pieces of wood (Fig. 107). They are disk-shaped objects, silvery in color, and about the size of an old-fashioned three-cent piece.

The egg-sacs of the cobweb weavers can be found suspended in their webs; and those of the orb weavers, in various situations. Fig. 108 represents the large egg-sac of one of the orb weavers. This is made in the autumn, and contains at that season a large number of eggs--five hundred or more. These eggs hatch early in the winter; but no spiders emerge from the egg-sac until the following spring. If egg-sacs of this kind be opened at different times during the winter, the spiders will be found to increase in size but diminish in numbers as the season advances. In fact, a strange tragedy goes on within these egg-sacs: the stronger spiders calmly devour their weaker brothers, and in the spring those that survive emerge sufficiently nourished to fight their battles in the outside world.

[Illustration: _Fig. 108. Egg-sac of an orb weaver._]

The females of the _Running Spiders_ not only make a carefully constructed egg-sac, but also care for the young spiders for a time. The running spiders are the large dark-colored, hairy spiders, often found under stones and rubbish; they are so-called because they capture their prey by running. The females of most of the species (those of the genus _Lycosa_) drag after them their egg-sac, which is attached to the spinnerets (Fig. 109); and when the young hatch, they climb on their mother's back, and are carried about for a time.

[Illustration: _Fig. 109. Lycosa and egg-sac._]

One of the running spiders (_Dolomedes_) carries her egg-sac with her mandibles until the young are ready to emerge. At this time the mother fastens the egg-sac in a bush, and spins irregular threads about it, among which the young spiders remain for a time (Fig. 110). In the specimen figured, the egg-sac was concealed in the upper part of the web.

THE BALLOONING SPIDERS.

In warm autumn days, innumerable threads can be seen streaming from fences, bushes, and the tips of stalks of grass, or floating through the air. These are made by the _Ballooning Spiders_, which are able to travel long distances, hundreds of miles, through the air by means of these silken threads.

The ballooning spider climbs to some elevated point, and then, standing on the tips of its feet, lifts its body as high as it can, and spins out a thread of silk. This thread is carried up and away by a current of air. When the thread is long enough the force of the air current on it is sufficient to bear the spider up. It then lets go its hold with its feet and sails away. That these spiders travel long distances in this manner has been shown by the fact that they have been seen floating through the air at sea far from land.

[Illustration: _Fig. 110. Nursery of Dolomedes. _]

LEAFLET XVI.

LIFE HISTORY OF THE TOAD.[20]

BY S. H. GAGE.[21]

[20] Teachers' Leaflet, No. 9, May, 1897.

[21] It was the desire of the author to tell the story of this leaflet in pictures as well as in words, and he wishes to express his appreciation of the enthusiasm and ability with which the illustrations were executed by Mr. C. W. Furlong.

In this edition are added half-tone reproductions of photographs to bring out more completely the life story.

On account of its economic importance, and because the marvelous changes passed through in growing from an egg to a toad are so rapid that they may all be seen during a single spring term of school, the common or warty toad has been selected as the subject of a leaflet in nature-study. Toads are found everywhere in New York, and nearly everywhere in the world; it is easy, therefore, to get abundant material for study. This animal is such a good friend to the farmer, the gardener, the fruit-grower, the florist and the stock-raiser that every man and woman, every boy and girl, ought to know something about it.

Furthermore, it is hoped and sincerely believed that the feeling of repugnance and dislike, and the consequent cruelty to toads, will disappear when teachers and children learn something about their wonderful changes in form, structure and habits, and how harmless and helpful they are. Then, who that knows of the chances, the dangers and struggles in the life of the toad, can help a feeling of sympathy; for after all, how like our human life it is. Where sympathy is, cruelty is impossible, and one comes to feel the spirit of these beautiful lines from Coleridge's "Ancient Mariner:"

"_He prayeth best who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us He made and loveth all._"

It was William Harvey, the discoverer of the circulation of the blood, who first clearly stated the fact that every animal comes from an egg. This is as true of a toad as of a chicken.

The toad lives on the land and often a long way from any pond or stream, but the first part of its life is spent in the water; and so it is in the water that the eggs must be looked for. To find the eggs one should visit the natural or artificial ponds so common along streams. Ponds from springs or even artificial reservoirs or the basins around fountains, also may contain the eggs. The time for finding the eggs depends on the season. The toad observes the season, not the almanac. In ordinary years, the best time is from the middle of April to the first of May.

One is often guided to the right place by noticing the direction from which the song or call of the toad comes. The call of the toad is more or less like that of the tree toads. In general it sounds like whistling, and at the same time pronouncing deep in the throat, bu-rr-r-r-r-. If one watches a toad while it makes its call, one can soon learn to distinguish the sound from others somewhat similar. It will be found that different toads have slightly different voices, and the same one can vary the tone considerably, so that it is not so easy after all to distinguish the many batrachian solos and choruses on a spring or summer evening. It will be noticed that the toad does not open its mouth when it sings, but, instead, the resonator or vocal sac under its mouth and throat is greatly expanded. One must be careful to distinguish the expansion of the mouth in breathing from the expansion of the vocal sac. See the left hand toad in the drawing (Fig. 111) for the vocal sac, and the toad in hibernation (Fig. 121) for the expansion of the mouth in breathing. It is only the males that possess the vocal sac, so that the toad chorus is composed solely of male voices.

The eggs are laid in long strings or ropes which are nearly always tangled and wound round the water plants or sticks on the bottom of the pond. If the pond is large and deep, the eggs are laid near the shore where the water is shallow. If the eggs have been freshly laid in clear water the egg ropes will look like glass tubes containing a string of jet black beads. After a rain the eggs are obscured by the fine mud that settles on the transparent jelly surrounding them, but the jelly is much more evident than in the freshly laid egg strings.

Secure enough of the egg string to include 50 or 100 eggs and place it in a glass fruit dish or a basin with clean water from the pond where the eggs were found. Let the children look at the eggs very carefully and note the color and the exact shape. Let them see whether the color is the same on all sides. If the eggs are newly laid they will be nearly perfect spheres.

[Illustration: _Fig. 111. The toad in various stages of development from the egg to the adult_]

Frogs, salamanders and tree toads lay their eggs in the same places and at about the same time as the toad we are to study. Only the toad lays its eggs in strings, so one can be sure he has the right kind. The others lay their eggs in bunches or singly on the plants, so they never need be mistaken for the ones sought.

[Illustration: _Fig. 112. Just hatched toad tadpoles climbing up where the water is better aerated._]

The eggs which are taken to the school house for study should be kept in a light place; an east, south or west window is best.

It requires only a short time for the eggs to hatch. In warm weather two to four days are usually sufficient, but in the cool days of April it may require ten days. As the changes are so very rapid, the eggs ought to be carefully looked at two or three times a day to make sure that all the principal changes are seen. If a pocket lens or a reading glass is to be had it will add to the interest, as more of the details can be observed. But good sharp eyes are sufficient if no lens is available.

_Hatching._--Watch and see how long it is before the developing embryos commence to move. Note their change in form. As they elongate they move more vigorously till on the second or third day they wriggle out of the jelly surrounding them. This is hatching, and they are now free in the water and can swim about. It is curious to see them hang themselves up on the old egg string or on the edge of the dish (Fig. 112). They do this by means of a peculiar v-shaped organ on their heads.

[Illustration: _Fig. 113. Older toad tadpoles with their heads up._]

How different the little creatures are, which have just hatched, from the grown up toad which laid the eggs! The difference is about as great as that between a caterpillar and a butterfly.

_Tadpoles, polliwogs._--We call the young of the frog, the toad and the tree toad, tadpoles or polliwogs. The toad tadpoles are black. As they increase in size they may become greyish. Those raised in the house are usually darker than those growing in nature.

The tadpoles will live for some time in clear water with apparently nothing to eat. This is because in each egg is some food, just as there is a large supply of food within the egg shell to give the chicken a good start in life. But when the food that the mother supplied in the egg is used up, the little tadpoles would die if they could not find some food for themselves. They must grow a great deal before they can turn into toads; and just like children and other young animals, to grow they must have plenty of food.

_Feeding the tadpoles._--To feed the tadpoles it is necessary to imitate nature as closely as possible. To do this, a visit to the pond where the eggs were found will give the clue. Many plants are present, and the bottom will be seen to slope gradually from the shore. The food of the tadpole is the minute plant life on the stones, the surface of the mud, or on the outside of the larger plants.

One must not attempt to raise too many tadpoles in the artificial pond in the laboratory or school-room or there will not be enough food, and all will be half starved, or some will get the food and the rest will starve to death. While there may be thousands of tadpoles in the natural pond, it will be readily seen that, compared with the amount of water present, there are really rather few.

Probably many more were hatched in the school-house than can be raised in the artificial pond. Return the ones not put in the artificial pond to the natural pond. It would be too bad to throw them out on the ground to die.

_Comparing the growth of the tadpoles._--Even when one does his best it is hard to make an artificial pond so good as the natural one for the tadpoles, and the teacher will find it very interesting and stimulating to compare the growth and change in the tadpoles at the school-house with those in the natural pond.

As growth depends on the supply of food and the suitability of the environment, it is easy to judge how nearly the artificial pond equals the natural pond for raising tadpoles. It will be worth while to take a tadpole from the natural pond occasionally and put it in with those at the school-house, so that the differences may be more strikingly shown. There is some danger in making a mistake here, however, for there may be three or four kinds of tadpoles in the natural pond. Those of the toad are almost jet black when young, while the others are more or less brownish. If one selects only the very black ones they will probably be toad tadpoles.

Every week or oftener, some water plants, and perhaps a small stone covered with the growth of microscopic plants, and some water, should be taken from the pond to the artificial pond. The water will supply the place of that which has evaporated, and the water plants will carry a new supply of food. If the water in the artificial pond in the school-room does not remain clear, it should be carefully dipped out and fresh clear water added. It is better to get the water from the pond where the eggs were laid, although any clear water will answer; but do not use distilled water.

The growth and changes in form should be looked for every day. Then it is very interesting to see what the tadpoles do, how they eat, and any signs of breathing.

All the changes from an egg to a little toad (Fig. 111), are passed through in one or two months, so that by the first of June the tadpoles will be found to have made great progress. The progress will be not only in size, but in form and action.

One of these actions should be watched with especial care, for it means a great deal. At first the little tadpoles remain under water all the time, and do not seem to know or care that there is a great world above the water. But as they grow larger and larger, they rush up to the surface once in awhile and then dive down again, as if their lives depended on it. The older they grow the oftener do they come to the surface. This is even more marked in the large tadpole of the bullfrog. What is the meaning of this? Probably most of the pupils can guess correctly; but it took scientific men a long time to find out just why this was done. The real reason is that the tadpole is getting ready to breathe the free air above the water when it turns into a toad and lives on the land. At first the little tadpoles breathe the air dissolved in the water, just as a fish does. This makes it plain why an artificial pond should have a broad surface exposed to the air. If one should use a narrow and deep vessel, like a fruit jar, only a small amount of air could be taken up by the water and the tadpoles would be half suffocated.

As the tadpoles grow older they go oftener to the surface to get the air directly from the limitless supply above the water, as they will have to do when they live wholly in the air.

_Disappearance of the tail._--From the first to the middle of June the tadpoles should be watched with especial care, for wonderful things are happening. Both the fore and hind legs will appear, if they have not already. The head will change in form and so will the body; the color will become much lighter, and, but for the tail, the tadpole will begin to look something like its mother.

If you keep an especially sharp lookout, do you think you will see the tail drop off? No, toad nature is too economical for that. The tail will not drop off, but it will be seen to get shorter and shorter every day; it is not dropping off, but is being carried into the tadpole. The tail is perfect at every stage; it simply disappears. How does this happen? This is another thing that it took scientific men a long time to find out.

It is now known that there are two great methods for removing parts of the body no longer needed. In the first method the living particles in the body which are able to wander all around, as if they were inspectors to see that everything is in order, may go to the part to be removed and take it up piece by piece. These living particles are known as white blood corpuscles, wandering cells, phagocytes, leucocytes and several other names. In the other method, the blood and the lymph going to the part to be removed dissolve it particle by particle. Apparently the toad tadpole's tail is dissolved by the blood and lymph rather than being eaten up by the phagocytes, although the phagocytes do a part of the work.

[Illustration: _Fig. 114. Transforming tadpole of the green tree toad to show the rapidity of tail absorption._ (_Change in 24 hours. Natural size._)

_HVLA--Natural size. Change in 24 hours; 28 mm. of tail absorbed in 24 hours; 1-1/6 mm. per hour. Common toad shortens the tail about 1/5 mm. per hour._]

Now, when the tadpole is ready to dispense with its tail, the blood and lymph and the phagocytes take it up particle by particle and carry it back into the body where it can be used just as any other good food would be. This taking in of the tail is done so carefully that the skin epithelium or epidermis is never broken, but covers up the outside perfectly all the time. Is not this a better way to get rid of a tail than to cut it off?

If you look at the picture of the disappearance of the tail in the toad tadpole (Fig. 115) and in the tree-toad tadpole (Fig. 114), you will get an idea how rapidly this takes place. It is easier to see the actual shortening if the tadpoles are put in a white dish of clear water without any water plants. The tadpoles do not eat anything while they are changing to toads, so they will not need to be fed.

_Beginning of the life on the land._--Now, when the legs are grown out, and the tail is getting shorter, the little tadpole likes to put its nose out of the water into the air; and sometimes it crawls half way out. When the tail gets quite short, often a mere stub, it will crawl out entirely and stay for some time in the air. It now looks really like a toad except that it is nearly smooth instead of being warty, and is only about as large as the end of a child's little finger (Fig. 115).

Finally, the time comes when the tadpole, now transformed into a toad, must leave the water for the land.

What queer feelings the little toad must have when the soft, smooth bottom of the pond and the pretty plants, and the water that supported it so nicely are all to be left behind for the hard, rough, dry land! But the little toad must take the step. It is no longer a tadpole, or half tadpole and half toad. It cannot again dive into the cool, soft water when the air and the sunshine dry and scorch it. As countless generations of little toads have done before, it pushes boldly out over the land and away from the water.

If one visits the natural pond at about this season (last half of June, first of July), he is likely to see many of the little fellows hopping away from the water. And so vigorously do they hop along that in a few days they may be as far as a mile from the pond where they were hatched. After a warm shower they are particularly active, and are then most commonly seen. Many think they rained down. "They were not seen before the rain, so they must have rained down." Is that good reasoning?

The little toad is careful and during the hot and sunny part of the day stays in the shade of the grass or leaves or in some other moist and shady place. If it staid out in the sun too long it would be liable to dry up.

[Illustration: _Fig. 115. Toad development in a single season_ (_1903_).

_1-18. Changes and growth, April to November. 1-13. Development in 25 to 60 days._

_15-18. Different sizes, October 21, 1903. 9, 14. Different sizes, July 30, 1903._

_10, 11. The same tadpole,--11, 47 hours older than 10._

_12, 13. The same tadpole,--13, 47 hours older than 12._]

FOOD ON THE LAND.

[Illustration: _Fig. 116. Toad catching a winged insect, and illustrating how the tongue is extended and brought in contact with the insect. Several other creatures that the toad might eat are shown in various parts of the picture._]

In the water the tadpole eats vegetable matter; but when it becomes a toad and gets on the land it will touch nothing but animal food, and that must be so fresh that it is alive and moving. This food consists of every creeping, crawling or flying thing that is small enough to be swallowed. While it will not touch a piece of fresh meat lying on the ground, woe to moving snail, insect or worm that comes within its reach!

It is by the destruction of insects and worms that the toad helps men so greatly. The insects and worms eat the grain, the fruits and the flowers. They bite and sting the animals and give men no end of trouble. The toad is not partial, but takes any live thing that gets near it, whether it is caterpillar, fly, spider, centipede or thousand-legged worm; and it does not stop even there, but will gobble up a hornet or a yellow jacket without the least hesitation.

It is astonishing to see the certainty with which a toad can catch these flying or crawling things. The way the toad does this may be observed by watching one out of doors some summer evening or after a shower; but it is more satisfactory to have a nearer view. Put a large toad into a box, or better, into a glass dish with some moist sand on the bottom. In a little while, if one is gentle, the toad will become tame, and then if flies and other insects are caught with a sweep net and put into the dish and the top covered with mosquito netting one can watch the process of capture. It is very quickly accomplished, and one must look sharply. As shown in the little picture (Fig. 116), the toad's tongue is fastened at the front part of its mouth, not back in the throat as with men, dogs, cats and most animals. It is so nicely arranged that it can be extended for quite a distance. On it is a sticky secretion, and when, quick as a flash, the tongue is thrown out or extended, if it touches the insect, the insect is caught as if by sticky fly paper, and is taken into the mouth.

[Illustration: _Fig. 117. Toad making a meal of an angle worm._]

Think how many insects and worms a toad could destroy in a single summer. Practically every insect and worm destroyed adds to the produce of the garden and the farm, or takes away one cause of discomfort to men and animals. One observer reports that a single toad disposed of twenty-four caterpillars in ten minutes, and another ate thirty-five celery worms within three hours. He estimates that a good-sized toad will destroy nearly 10,000 insects and worms in a single summer.

[Illustration: _Fig. 118. Two newts feasting on tadpoles._]

ENEMIES--THE SHADOW SIDE OF LIFE.

[Illustration: _Fig. 119. In danger from a crow._]

So far nothing has been said about the troubles and dangers of the toad's life. Fig. 111 is meant to show the main phases in the life-history. If one looks at it perhaps he may wonder what becomes of all the tadpoles that first hatch, as only two toads are shown at the top. Is not this something like the other life-histories? How many little robins or chickens die and never become full-grown birds! Well, the dangers to the toad begin at once. Suppose the eggs are laid in a pond that dries up before the little toads can get ready to live on the land; in that case they all die. The mother toads sometimes do make the mistake of laying the eggs in ponds that dry up in a little while. You will not let the artificial pond at the school-house dry up, will you? Then sometimes there is an especially dry summer, and only those that transform very early from tadpoles to toads are saved.

In the little picture (Fig. 118) is shown another source of danger and cause for the diminution in numbers. The newts and salamanders find young tadpoles very good eating and they make way with hundreds of them. Some die from what are called natural causes, that is, diseases, or possibly they eat something that does not agree with them. So that while there were multitudes of eggs (1,000 or more from each toad), and of just hatched tadpoles, the number has become sadly lessened by the time the brood is ready to leave the water.

Then when they set foot on land, their dangers are not passed. They may be parched by summer's heat or crushed under the feet of men or cattle. Birds and snakes like them for food. Figs. 119 and 120 show some of these dangers. Is it a wonder, then, that of all the multitudes of tadpoles so few grow up to be large toads?

We have so few helpers to keep the noxious insects in check, it is not believed that any boy or girl who knows this wonderful story of a toad's life will join the crows, the snakes and the salamanders in worrying or destroying their good friends.

MOULTING AND HIBERNATION.

There are two very interesting things that happen in the life of many of the lower animals; they happen to the toad also. These are moulting, or change of skin, and hibernation, or winter sleep. Every boy and girl ought to know about these, and then, if on the lookout, some or all of the things will be seen.

_Moulting._--Probably everybody who lives in the country has seen a snake's skin without any snake in it. It is often very perfect. When the outside skin or cuticle of a snake or a toad gets old and dry or too tight for it, a new covering grows underneath, and the old one is shed. This is a very interesting performance, but the toad usually sheds it in a retired place, so the process is not often seen. Those who have seen it say that a long crack or tear appears along the back and in front. The toad keeps moving and wriggling to loosen the old cuticle. This peels the cuticle off the sides. Now, to get it off the legs and feet, the toad puts its leg under its arm, or front leg, and in that way pulls off the old skin as if it were a stocking. But when the front legs are to be stripped the mouth is used as is sometimes done by people in pulling off their gloves. Do you think it uses its teeth for this purpose? You might look in a toad's mouth sometime, and then you would know.

[Illustration: _Fig. 120. Snakes frequently swallow toads hind legs foremost, as shown in the picture. This is especially true of the garter snake, which is a great enemy of the toad._]

It is said that when the skin is finally pulled off the toad swallows it. This is true in some cases; at least it is worth while keeping watch for. It is certain that the toad sometimes swallows the cast skin; it is also certain that in some cases the cast skin is not swallowed. After a toad has shed his old skin, he looks a great deal brighter and cleaner than before, as if he had just got a new suit of clothes. If you see one with a particularly bright skin, you will now know what it means.

_Hibernation._--The toad is a cold-blooded animal. This means that the temperature of its blood is nearly like that of the surrounding air. Men, horses, cows, dogs, are said to be warm-blooded, for their blood is warm and of about the some temperature whether the surrounding air is cold or hot.

When the air is too cool, the toad becomes stupid and inactive. In September or October a few toads may be seen on warm days or evenings, but the number seen becomes smaller and smaller; and finally, as the cold November weather comes on, none are seen. Where are they? The toad seems to know that winter is coming, that the insects and worms will disappear, so that no food can be found. It must go into a kind of death-like sleep, in which it hardly moves or breathes. This winter sleep or hibernation must be passed in some safe and protected place. If the toad were to freeze and thaw with every change in the weather it would not wake up in the spring.

[Illustration: _Fig. 121. Toad in the winter sleep._ (_Natural size_).]

The wonderful foresight which instinct gives it, makes the toad select some comparatively soft earth in a protected place where it can bury itself. The earth chosen is moist, but not wet. If it were dry the toad would dry up before spring. It is not uncommon for farmers and gardeners to plough them up late in the fall or early in the spring. Also in digging cellars at about these times they are found occasionally.

In burying itself the toad digs with its hind legs and body, and pushes itself backward into the hole with the front legs. The earth caves in as the animal backs into the ground, so that no sign is left on the outside. Once in far enough to escape the freezing and thawing of winter, the toad moves around till there is a little chamber slightly larger than its body; then it draws its legs up close, shuts its eyes, puts its head down between or on its hands, and goes to sleep and sleeps for five months or more.

When the warm days of spring come it wakes up, crawls out of bed and begins to take interest in life again. It looks around for insects and worms, and acts as if it had had only a comfortable nap.

[Illustration: _Fig. 122. The same toad awake in the spring._ (_Natural size_).]

The little toad that you saw hatch from an egg into a tadpole and then turn to a toad, would hibernate for two or three winters, and by that time it would be quite a large toad. After it had grown up and had awakened from its winter sleep some spring, it would have a strong impulse to get back to the pond where it began life as an egg years before. Once there it would lay a great number of eggs, perhaps as many as a thousand or two, for a new generation of toads. And this would complete its life cycle.

While the toad completes its life cycle when it returns to the water and lays eggs for a new generation, it may live many years afterward and lay eggs many times, perhaps every year.

Many insects, some fish and other animals, die after laying their eggs. For such animals the completion of the life cycle ends the life-history also. But unless the toad meets with some accident it goes back to its land home after laying the eggs, and may live in the same garden or dooryard for many years, as many as eight years, and perhaps longer. (See Bulletin No. 46, Hatch Experiment Station of the Massachusetts Agricultural College, Amherst, Mass.)

ERRONEOUS NOTIONS ABOUT THE TOAD.

If one reads in old books and listens to the fairy tales and other stories common everywhere, he will hear many wonderful things about the toad, but most of the things are wholly untrue.

One of the erroneous notions is that the toad is deadly poison. Another is that it is possessed of marvelous healing virtues, and still another, that hidden away in the heads of some of the oldest ones are the priceless toad-stones, jewels of inestimable value.

_Giving warts._--Probably every boy and girl living in the country has heard that if one takes a toad in his hands, or if a toad touches him anywhere he will "catch the warts." This is not so at all, as has been proved over and over again. If a toad is handled gently and petted a little it soon learns not to be afraid, and seems to enjoy the kindness and attention. If a toad is hurt or roughly handled a whitish, acrid substance is poured out of the largest warts. This might smart a little if it got into the mouth, as dogs find out when they try biting a toad. It cannot be very bad, however, or the hawks, owls, crows and snakes that eat the toad would give up the practice. The toad is really one of the most harmless creatures in the world, and has never been known to hurt a man or a child.

A boy might possibly have some warts on his hands after handling a toad; so might he after handling a jack-knife or looking at a steam engine; but the toad does not give the warts any more than the knife or the engine.

_Cows giving bloody milk._--It is a common belief in the country that if one kills a toad his cows will give bloody milk. Cows will give bloody milk if the udder is injured in any way, whether a toad is killed or not. There is no connection whatever between the bloody milk and a killed toad.

_Living without air and food._--Occasionally one reads or hears a story about a toad found in a cavity in a solid rock. When the rock is broken open it is said that the toad wakes up and hops around as if it had been asleep only half an hour. Just think for a moment what it would mean to find a live toad within a cavity in a solid rock. It must have been there for thousands, if not for millions of years, without food or air. The toad does not like a long fast, but can stand it for a year or so without food if it is in a moist place and supplied with air. It regularly sleeps four or five months every winter, but never in a place devoid of air. If the air were cut off the toad would soon die. Some careful experiments were made by French scientific men, and the stories told about toads living indefinitely without air or food were utterly disproved.

It is not difficult to see that one working in a quarry might honestly think that he had found a toad in a rock. Toads are not very uncommon in quarries. If a stone were broken open and a cavity found in it, and then a toad were seen hopping away, one might jump at the conclusion that the toad came out of the cavity in the rock. Is not this something like the belief that the little toads rain down from the clouds because they are most commonly seen after a shower?

SURVEYS AND MAPS.

In considering the suggestions made in this leaflet, we thought of the hundreds of schools throughout the state and wondered whether there might not be some difficulty in finding the ponds where the toads lay their eggs, and in finding some of the things described in the other leaflets.

The teachers and students in Cornell University found this difficulty in 1868 when the University opened. The great Louis Agassiz came to the University at the beginning to give a course of lectures on natural history. The inspiration of his presence and advice, and of those lectures, lasts to this day.

Agassiz, and the University teachers, who had many of them been his pupils, saw at once that the region around Ithaca must be full of interesting things; but they did not know exactly where to find them. Agassiz himself made some explorations, and the professors and students took hold of the work with the greatest enthusiasm. They explored the beautiful lake, the streams, hills, valleys, gorges, ponds and marshes. Careful notes were kept of the exact locality where every interesting thing was found and simple maps were made to aid in finding the places again. Finally, after several years, knowledge enough was gained to construct an accurate map for the use of all. A part of this map, showing only the most important features, is put into this leaflet to serve as a guide (Fig. 123).

It will be seen that the University is made the starting point. With a few hints it is believed that every school can make a good beginning this year on a natural history survey of the region near its school-house, and in the preparation of a map to go with the survey.

[Illustration: _Fig. 123. Simple map showing the position of Cornell University, the city of Ithaca, Cayuga Lake, and the roads and streams and ponds near the University. From W. R. Dudley's map in "The Cayuga Flora." Scale, 1 centimeter to the kilometer._

_U. Cornell University._

_U. L. University Lake in Fall Creek._

_R. Reservoir supplied from University Lake, and supplying the campus._

_E. P. East Pond where the eggs of the toad, tree toad, frogs and salamanders are found._

_F. P. Forest Home Pond. A very favorable place for eggs, tadpoles, etc._

_Inlet. The inlet of the lake. The lampreys are abundant near Fleming's meadow._]

_Preparation of the map._--It is well to have the map of good size. A half sheet of bristol board will answer, but a whole sheet is better. About the first thing to decide is the scale to which the map is to be drawn. It is better to have the scale large. Twelve inches to the mile would be convenient. Divide the map into squares, making the lines quite heavy. If so large a scale were used it would be advantageous for locating places to have the large squares divided into square inches, but much lighter lines should be used so that there will be no confusion with the lines representing the miles.

_Locating objects on the map._--The corner of the school-house containing the corner stone should be taken as the starting point. If there is no corner stone, select the most convenient corner. Put the school-house on the map anywhere you wish; probably the center of the map would be the best place. In the sample map the University is not in the center, as it was desired to show more of the country to the south and west than to the north and east.

The map should of course be made like other maps, so it will be necessary to know the four cardinal points of the compass before locating anything on it. Perhaps the school-house has been placed facing exactly north and south or east and west, that is, arranged with the cardinal points of the compass; if so, it will be the best guide. If you are not sure, determine with a compass. With it the points can be determined very accurately. Having determined the points of compass, commence to locate objects in the landscape on the map as follows: Get their direction from the starting point at the corner of the school-house, then measure the distance accurately by running a bicycle on which is a cyclometer, straight between the starting point and the object. The cyclometer will record the distance accurately and it can be read off easily. If no bicycle with a cyclometer is available, one can use a long measuring stick, a tape measure or even a measured string; but the bicycle and cyclometer are more convenient and accurate, especially when the distances are considerable.

Suppose the distance is found to be one-sixth of a mile due west. It should be located two inches west of the corner taken as the starting point. If the direction were south-west, then the two inches would be measured on the map in that direction and located accordingly. Proceed in this way for locating any pond or marsh, forest or glen. Now, when the places are located on the map, you can see how easy it would be for any one to find the places themselves. While the exact position should be determined if possible and located, one does not often take a bee-line in visiting them, but goes in roads, often a long distance around. In locating the objects on the map, every effort should be made to get them accurately placed, and this can be done most easily by knowing the distances in a straight line.

It is hoped that every school in the state will begin this year making a natural history survey and a map of the region around its school-house. The map will show but few locations, perhaps, but it can be added to from year to year, just as the University map has been added to; and finally each school will have a map and notes showing exactly where the toads lay their eggs, where fish and birds are; and where the newts and salamanders, the different trees and flowers, rocks and fossils may be found.

If the dates are kept accurately for the different years, one can also see how much variation there is. Indeed, such nature-study will give a sure foundation for appreciating and comprehending the larger questions in natural science, and it will make an almost perfect preparation for taking part in or for appreciating the great surveys of a state or a country. It is believed that if accurate information were collected and careful maps made by the different schools, the Empire State could soon have a natural history survey and map better than any now in existence in any state or country.

_To the Teacher:_

_It is the firm belief of those who advocate nature-study that it is not only valuable in itself, but that it will help to give enjoyment in other studies and meaning to them. Every pupil who follows out the work of this leaflet will see the need of a map of the region around the school-house. This will help in the appreciation of map work generally._

_So many of the beautiful and inspiring things in literature are concerning some phase of nature, that nature-study must increase the appreciation of the literature; and the noble thoughts in the literature will help the pupils to look for and appreciate the finer things in nature._

_It is suggested that as many of the following selections as possible be read in connection with the leaflet:_

_"The Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz," by Longfellow._

_The "Prayer of Agassiz," by Whittier. Professor Wilder, who was present, assures the author that this describes an actual occurrence._

_This "Silent Prayer" is also mentioned in an inspiring paragraph by Henry Ward Beecher in the Christian Union, 1873._

_The first part of Bryant's "Thanatopsis," Coleridge's "Ancient_ _Mariner," Burns' "On Scaring Some Water Fowl in Loch-Turit," and "To a Mouse."_

_Cowpers "The Task," a selection from book vi., beginning with line 560. This gives a very just view of the rights of the lower animals._

_In connection with the disappearance of the tail, read Lowell's "Festina Lente," in the Biglow Papers. For older pupils, Shakespeare's picture of the seven ages in the human life cycle might be read. "As You Like It," Act II, Scene II, near the end, commencing, "All the world's a stage," etc._

_Kipling's Jungle Books, and the works of Ernest Thompson-Seton and William J. Long will help one to see how the world might look from the standpoint of the animals._

_One of the most satisfactory books to use in connection with nature-study is Animal Life, by President David Starr Jordan and Professor Kellogg. This gives the facts that every teacher ought to know in connection with the processes of reproduction._

_Attention is also called to A. H. Kirkland's Bulletin No. 46 of the Hatch Experiment Station of the Massachusetts Agricultural College, and to the Nature-Study Leaflet on the Toad, by Dr. C. F. Hodge, of Clark University, Worcester, Mass._

[Illustration: _Fig. 124. From egg back to toad._]

LEAFLET XVII.

LIFE IN A TERRARIUM.[22]

BY ALICE I. KENT.

And Nature, the old nurse, took The child upon her knee, Saying: "Here is a story-book Thy Father has written for thee."

--_Longfellow to Agassiz._

[22] Nature-Study Quarterly No. 8: Leaflet 21, January, 1901.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: _Fig. 125. Life in the terrarium._]

Fortunate are the children and the teachers who are so placed that Nature's story book is close at hand. But city children and their teachers need not despair, for Nature, the old nurse, is loving and bountiful and will rewrite, in living characters, many a page from the wondrous book, for those who care to read. One such a page may be a terrarium--a confined plot of earth on which things may live and grow (from _terra_, "earth," as aquarium is from _aqua_, "water"). Within its narrow confines, the whole drama of the beautiful life of many a tiny creature may be rewritten.

Here is a fragment of the drama, as written in one terrarium.

This terrarium was made from an old berry crate (Figs. 125, 126). When the children saw it first, last fall, this is what it looked like: a large rectangular box, grass-green in color, thirty-nine inches long, eighteen inches wide, and fifteen inches high. The long sides were of glass, the short sides and top of green wire netting. The top could be removed like the lid of a box. It stood upon a pedestal-table provided with castors. In the bottom of the terrarium were three inches of rich soil, covered with the delicate green of sprouting grass-seed. In one corner was a mossy nook, and in another a mass of thistles and clover. At one end, a small cabbage was planted and at the other lay several sprays of glossy pin-oak. Suspended from the top, was a large spray of purple thistles.

[Illustration: _Fig. 126. Butterfly-time in the terrarium world._]

Among the thistles in the corner, ten pendants of vivid green, bright with golden points, could be seen. They were the chrysalids of the monarch, or milkweed, butterfly. Among the cabbage leaves, were many of the pale green eggs and several of the caterpillars of the cabbage butterfly. Among the sprays of oak in the corner, several oak caterpillars were feeding.

Before many days had passed, the drama of life began. One by one, the chrysalids of the milkweed butterfly paled in color and, becoming transparent, showed through their whitened walls the orange-colored wings of the developing butterflies within. They then burst, freeing their gorgeous tenants. This happened until there were seven butterflies in the terrarium. As two of these proved discontented with their new home, they were set free. The five others spent the little round of their aërial life seemingly happy and satisfied. They lived from three to six weeks and showed some individuality in their tastes and habits. Sometimes they chose the mossy corner for their resting place. On other occasions they preferred the netting at the ends and top of the terrarium. In fact, the netting at the ends of the terrarium was a source of pleasure to these butterflies, as it served as a secure resting place and an agreeable and convenient pathway to the top. One of them spent nearly all its life on the thistles suspended from the top. These thistles were kept fresh a long time by placing their stems in a large sponge which was frequently drenched with water.

The butterflies showed some individuality in their eating also. Thistle, clover, golden-rod, nasturtiums, and honey-suckle were offered to them. The thistle and the golden-rod were most frequently visited, and next to these the nasturtiums were most favored. Another fact noted was that most of the butterflies continued to visit the flower first chosen. When, however, a thick syrup of sugar and water was offered to them, the flowers were much neglected, only one butterfly persisting in flower-visiting. Golden-rod was its choice. If the syrup was fresh-made every morning and was placed in a convenient spot, the butterflies never failed to sip it. They generally slept clinging to the wire-netting at the ends or top of the terrarium.

In the meantime, the cabbage began to attract the watchful eyes of the wondering children. As it had industriously sent out many tiny roots, it proved a safe and satisfactory home for its hidden occupants. Soon, one by one, the caterpillars began to appear at the edges of the uppermost leaves. They began small tours in the vicinage of the cabbage, and, finally, as with the butterflies, the end wire nettings proved to be an easy pathway to the top of the terrarium. Here several found good resting places, and slowly changed to chrysalids.

One day a cabbage butterfly obligingly flew in at the open window. It was caught and placed in the terrarium. It, too, proved to be very fond of sugar syrup. One morning the syrup was accidentally spilled on the wooden ridge at the bottom of the terrarium outside of the netting. The butterfly was so hungry that it could not wait for food more conveniently placed; so it stretched its tongue out, full length, through the netting, and in that way obtained it. The children were surprised to find its tongue somewhat longer than its body.

At this time, the cabbage was removed so that the eggs and the remaining young caterpillars could be observed. The protecting coloring of the eggs and caterpillars was first noticed. One little boy at first announced that the caterpillars were green because they were not ripe, a good example surely of the danger of reasoning from analogy!

Very soon the inhabitants of this terrarium world began to increase. A father and two mother grasshoppers and a young one, with his "armor on," came to live there; also a "woolly bear," several other species of caterpillars, several species of beetles, a big horse-fly, some lady-bugs, and a cicada. About this time too, some very unwelcome immigrants appeared. These were the ichneumon flies. So numerous did they become in a very short time, that they threatened desolation to this prosperous community. Nature's methods were then scrutinized and the services of two tree-toads were sought. Their response was immediate and cordial. Soon not an ichneumon fly could be found.

[Illustration: _Fig. 127. Hand over hand._]

The grasshoppers were partial to celery, over-ripe bananas, and moisture. Three days after they became inhabitants of this miniature world, the mother grasshopper dug a hole in the ground and laid eggs. The observing children then had before them living illustrations of the three stages of grasshopper life.

The tree-toads were both amusing and accommodating. They, too, liked the wire netting at the ends of the terrarium, and delighted the children by climbing up foot over foot, or hand over hand, like odd four-handed sailor boys (Fig. 127.) This brought into plain view the tiny suckers on their feet.

After the ichneumon flies had disappeared, a new difficulty arose. The ground became mouldy, and the grass died down. The terrarium was then placed by an open window and left there several hours for a number of days until it was thoroughly dried out. Then bird-seed was planted and the ground was watered thereafter with a small plant syringe. This gave sufficient, but not excessive moisture, and it was one of the pleasures of the children to imitate a rainy day in the terrarium world. And it was a pleasing experience, for there were splashes of water on the glass sides and many shining drops on the netting and verdure, which soon grew several inches tall; there was the same delightful odor of rich fresh earth that one enjoys during summer rains, and the sunshine touched with brilliancy the gay fall flowers and the gorgeous outspread wings of the butterflies.

At this time the terrarium had an annex in the shape of a wooden box, a foot square, with a gauze top. Here lived two mother spiders with their egg-balls carefully hung on the cobweb beams of their homes. One day a beautiful yellow silk egg-ball was found out of doors, and when it was carefully opened to show the eggs with which it was filled, the gratifying discovery was made that these eggs were hatching. They were very tiny and very numerous. They were inclosed in a silken pouch and were the exact color of its lining. When resting the little spiders seemed to hold their legs under the body, and they were so small and so like the egg in general appearance that if they had not run about when disturbed they would never have been discovered. As soon as the egg ball was opened they exploited their one talent, for they ran out on the fingers of the person who held the ball and then suspended themselves by almost invisible threads from all parts of the fingers. When they were to be returned to the egg-ball they were gently pushed up. They then obligingly ran back into their silken home, which was carefully closed as before. These little ones were kept a week or ten days and were then allowed to escape and establish homes for themselves. The life history of the spider was thus seen, although, unfortunately, our adult spiders did not belong to the same species as the young ones.

To return to the terrarium: It was now early in November and each day found one or more of the terrarium inhabitants missing. One of the caterpillars disappeared and a cocoon made of its own hair was found in its place; several chrysalids were found on the top of the terrarium; the butterflies and the grasshoppers, one by one, went into that sleep from which there is no awakening; and a number of the other creatures disappeared. The children finally concluded that the latter had gone to sleep in the ground. The grasshoppers and the tree-toads were the last to take their rest, but just before they answered Mother Nature's call to slumber, a large garden toad came to bear them company.

He was a very interesting toad for he bore signs of having lived through what must have been almost a tragedy. He had lost the lower half of one front leg and had the scar of a long gash on his throat. These disfigurements seemed not to cause him the least unhappiness, for he had a very bright wide-awake expression and was as plump and complacent as a toad should be. The loss of his leg caused him a little inconvenience, for he sometimes lost his balance when hopping and fell on his back. He occasionally found it difficult to right himself at once, but a few vigorous kicks and jumps generally placed him right side up. Three days after he became a member of the terrarium community, he, too, heard Mother Nature's call to bed, and partially buried himself. Each day he covered himself more completely, until finally only the top of his head and two sleepy eyes were to be seen. One day, about a week afterward, he disappeared entirely. He proved to be a very restless sleeper, and frequently showed himself during the sunniest parts of nearly every day all winter, occasionally coming entirely out of his earthy covering. He served as a sort of barometer all winter, appearing in bright and disappearing in gloomy weather. He never, however, left the spot he had chosen for his bed.

"Winter is the night of the year," and the little terrarium world indoors exemplifies it as truly as the great fields of Nature's domain out of doors. The soil is dry and hard in this miniature world and the verdure has dried down to palest green and brown. In its earthy bed, the caterpillars, beetles, and other creatures lie cosily asleep, and with the masses of tiny eggs, await the vivifying touch of spring.

LEAFLET XVIII.

DIRECTIONS FOR COLLECTING AND PRESERVING INSECTS.[23]

BY ANNA BOTSFORD COMSTOCK.

[23] Teachers' Leaflet No. 7, June, 1897.

[Illustration]

It is the purpose of this leaflet to give a few suggestions to aid those pupils of the secondary schools who desire to make collections of insects.

There are several good reasons why children should be encouraged to make collections of flowers, birds and insects; and the least of these reasons is the possession of such a collection on the part of the child. Making a collection of natural history specimens should only be the means to an end, _i. e._, training the child to observe. When eyes are opened to the wonders of nature, every roadside, brook and woodland is fraught with interest which is undreamed of by those who are nature-blind. It is sad to think of the hosts of people who go through this beautiful world having eyes but seeing not, having ears but hearing not. The eyes must be unsealed in youth, when the mind is alert and receptive if the man or woman is to find in later life that Nature is not only a resource and recreation but an ever faithful friend holding out comforting arms to those who are weary in soul and body.

Not only does the study of nature open the child's eyes, but it also teaches him the value of accuracy. The young naturalist soon understands that an observation is worth nothing unless it is truthful. On the other hand, nature-study cultivates the imagination. The wonders in the lives of insects, plants, and birds are so illimitable that almost anything _seems_ possible. Few indeed are the studies wherein the fire kindled by imaginative _seeming_ is guarded and checked by the facts of actual _seeing_.

There are a few points in favor of beginning with insects when the child first attempts making a collection of natural objects. Insects are to be found everywhere and are easily caught; it requires no technical skill to preserve them, as is the case with birds; they retain their natural forms and colors better than do flowers. To secure the desired results for the pupil when he is making his collection of insects, the teacher should take care that he makes his observations incidentally, thus subserving the true methods of nature-study, which is to teach the child while he remains unconscious of the fact that he is being taught. The teacher, therefore, should ask the young collector, "Where did you catch this butterfly?" "Where did you find this beetle?" "Upon what plant or flower did you find this bug?" "Did you hear this cricket chirp? If so, how did he do it?" etc., etc.; thus making him tell orally or in a written language lesson the things he has seen while collecting. The differences in the appearance and structure of the insects caught should also be brought out by questions. These questions may be adapted to pupils of any age, and the success of this part of the work must ever depend upon the interest and genius of the teacher.

The objection is sometimes raised that collecting and killing insects and birds incite the child to cruelty and wanton destruction of life. This seems good _a priori_ reasoning, but experience does not confirm it. We have always found that those who collect and take an interest in insect life are much more careful about killing or hurting insects than are other people; the entomologist of all men takes the greatest pains to avoid stepping upon the caterpillar or cricket in his path; also the young ornithologists who have come under our observation show the greatest devotion to the rights and interests of birds. Our experience is that as soon as the child begins to take an interest in insects he begins to see matters from their point of view, and this insures a proper regard for their right to life. It will be well, however, for the teacher to impress upon the pupil that he should kill no insect that is not desired for his collection.

The articles necessary for collecting insects are few and inexpensive. One net and one killing bottle may do service for a grade or an entire country school, thus reducing the expense to a minimum.

INSECT NET. FIG. 128.

_Materials required._

1. A handle about three feet long; an old broom handle will do.

2. A piece of tin three inches wide, long enough to reach around the handle.

3. A piece of No. 3 galvanized wire 3 feet 6 inches long.

4. One-sixth of a yard of heavy sheeting.

5. Three-quarters of a yard of cheese cloth.

[Illustration: _Fig. 128. Insect net._]

Bend the wire into a ring about a foot in diameter and bend back about 3 inches of each end of the wire so they may be inserted into a hole drilled into the end of the handle. The piece of tin should be fastened around the end of the handle where the wire is inserted to hold it securely in place. If practicable, a tinsmith should be called upon to help in bending the wire and fastening it to the handle. After this is done, take the sheeting and fold it over the wire double, using only enough to fit around the wire without gathering; the object of this heavy cloth is to prevent the net from wearing out quickly. Make the cheese cloth into a bag with rounded bottom and just wide enough to fit the facing of sheeting, to which it should be sewed securely, and the net is finished.

HOW TO USE THE NET.

To be successful, the net must be swung swiftly. Insects have many eyes and are very wide awake and have no desire to be caught; therefore, the collector must be very active if he gets anything. One method of using the net is called "sweeping;" to do this take the handle about a foot and a half above the ring and pass the net quickly back and forth striking it against the grass in front of you as you walk through open fields; the net must be turned at each stroke and kept in rapid motion or the insects will escape. After a time the net should be examined and the insects put in the killing bottle.

Another method of using the net is called "beating." This method is used in collecting insects from bushes, and consists of lifting the net, mouth upward, and striking it sharply against the branches or leaves, thus jarring the insects into it.

To use the net in water, sweep the water plants as quickly as possible. In running streams, overturn stones, holding the net just below them with the mouth up stream. An old dipper made into a sieve by perforating the bottom with an awl is a good utensil for collecting water insects.

THE KILLING BOTTLE. FIG. 129.

It is desirable to kill the insects in a humane way, so that they will not suffer by the process; it is also desirable that they should not revive after they are pinned, both for their own sakes as well as for the sake of the feelings of the collector. The best way to secure painless and sure death for the insects is by the means of a "cyanide bottle."

[Illustration: _Fig. 129. Killing bottle._]

_Materials needed for a killing bottle._

1. A bottle with a wide mouth; a morphine bottle or a small olive or pickle bottle will do. Even a glass fruit-can holding a pint will answer very well, although taking off and putting on the cover consumes more time than is desirable.

2. A cork that will fit the bottle tightly and is long enough to handle easily.

3. Two cents' worth of cyanide of potassium.

4. One cent's worth of plaster of Paris.

These latter materials may be procured from any drug store.

Place the lump of cyanide of potassium in the bottle and pour in enough water to cover it. Add immediately enough plaster of Paris to soak up all the water; leave the bottle open in a shady place for an hour and then wipe the dry plaster of Paris from its sides, put in the cork, and it is ready for use. The plaster of Paris forms a porous cement, which, while it holds the cyanide fast in the bottom, also allows the fumes of the poison to escape and fill the bottle. It should be labelled "poison," for cyanide of potassium is very poisonous. If kept corked when not in use, a killing bottle made like this will last a whole season.

The first rule in using the killing bottle is this: do not kill any more insects than you need for your collection. The second rule is: do not breathe the fumes of the bottle, for they smell badly and are not good for you. When you uncork the bottle to put an insect in it, hold it away from your face and cork it up again as quickly as possible.

Some insects may be caught from flowers, etc., directly into the bottle by holding it uncorked beneath them for a moment; the fumes of the poison soon overcome them and they drop into the bottle. In taking insects from the net, hold the bottle in the right hand and the cork in the left; insert the bottle into the net and place the mouth of it over an insect crawling on the inside of the net, then put the cork on the outside of the net into the mouth of the bottle, net and all, for a moment until the insect falls into the bottom of the bottle; then remove the cork and take the rest of the imprisoned insects in the same way. Insects should be left in the bottle at least an hour, and may be left in there over night without injury to the specimens.

INSECT PINS. FIG. 130.

[Illustration: _Fig. 130. Insect pins, 1, 3, 5, are German insect pins. 2 is a steel mourning pin._]

After the insects are caught they should be pinned so that they may be arranged in the collection in an orderly manner. Common pins are not good for pinning insects; they are too thick and they corrode very soon, covering the specimens with verdigris. Regular insect pins are desirable as they are very slender and do not corrode so quickly. These may be obtained of any dealer in entomological supplies at a cost of fifteen cents per hundred.

Ask for the German insect pins Nos. 1, 3 and 5. If these pins are too expensive you can use the black steel mourning pins. These come in shallow boxes one by two inches square and have round glass heads and the boxes are labelled "Germany;" these may be procured from any dry goods store. However, insects pinned with any beside regular insect pins cannot be sold or exchanged.

All insects except beetles should be pinned through that part of the body just back of the head, as shown in Figs. 137, 139, 140, 141. Beetles should be pinned through the right wing-cover, as shown in Fig. 138. About one-fourth of the pin should project above the back of the insect. Very small insects may be gummed to a narrow strip of card board and the pin put through the card board.

LABELLING SPECIMENS.

Specimens should be labelled with the date of capture and the locality. Thus the butterfly, Fig. 141, would be labelled thus:

Ithaca, N. Y. Aug. 12, 1896.

The paper on which this label is written should be slipped upon the pin with which the butterfly is pinned and placed just below the insect. Labels should be as small as possible and be neatly cut.

INSECT BOXES.

For the beginner nothing is more convenient than an empty cigar box, which may be obtained at any store where cigars are sold. (Fig. 131.) The bottom of the box should be covered with some soft, firm material into which pins may be pushed without bending them. There are many such materials. Sheet cork or pressed peat may be obtained of dealers in entomological supplies. Some ingenious boys use regular bottle corks, cut into cross sections about 1/4 inch thick. Others take the pith of dried corn-stalks divided in half lengthwise. The cheapest and most easily procurable of the purchasable materials is cork linoleum. This is for sale in most carpet stores. Get the quality that is about 1/4 inch thick, which costs about $1 per yard; put it into the box cork-side up. Any of these materials can be fastened to the bottom of the box with glue or with tacks. In all cases they should be covered neatly with white paper, for the insects appear better against a white background.

[Illustration: _Fig. 131. A convenient box for the use of the young collector._]

For permanent collections, wooden boxes with glass tops are much safer; and as the insects may be seen through the glass these boxes are more practical for school collections. This kind of a box is shown in Fig. 132. Its sides are 18 by 16 inches and its height is three inches outside measure. The upper edge of the sides of the bottom part of the box is made with a tongue which fits into a groove made in the lower edge of the sides of the cover. This is done so that the top and bottom parts of the box shall fit very closely together in order that museum pests cannot get in and destroy the specimens.

[Illustration: _Fig. 132. Insect box made of wood, with glass top._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 133. A cross-section of the side of insect box Fig. 132, showing method of construction and giving measurements._]

In Fig. 133 is a cross section through one side of the box, showing how it should be made and giving measurements. In the drawing the glass is fitted into a groove in the inner side of the cover. This glass might be puttied in like a window pane if it is found difficult to make the groove. The corners of the box may be mitred and dove-tailed, or mitred and nailed; the latter is more easily done. Any carpenter or cabinet maker can make this box. Great care must be taken to use only thoroughly seasoned wood in its construction; otherwise the bottom will be sure to warp and shrink and leave cracks through which the museum pests will enter.

The cost of such a box will vary from $0.75 to $1. Basswood should be used for its construction; pine is not at all suitable on account of the resin in it. Screw eyes may be put into these boxes and they may be hung on the walls of the schoolroom like pictures.

MUSEUM PESTS.

These are small beetles which find their way through the narrowest crevice into the insect boxes and lay their eggs on the pinned insects.

The larvæ when they hatch work within the specimens at first but after a time destroy the bodies entirely. The presence of these little rascals may be detected by dust on the bottom of the box just below the infested insect. As soon as this dust is observed, pour into one corner of the box a tablespoonful of carbon bisulfide, or benzine, and close the box quickly. The teacher or parent should put the substances into the boxes, as the first is a poison and both are very inflammable. As a method of preventing the beetles from attacking the collection it is well to fasten a "moth ball" into one corner of the box. These may be obtained at a drug store.

SPREADING-BOARD. FIG. 134.

Butterflies and moths look much better in a collection when their wings are extended at right angles to the length of the body. To arrange them thus we have to use what is termed a spreading-board.

[Illustration: _Fig. 134. A spreading-board._]

_Materials needed for a medium sized spreading-board._

1. Two strips of pine or other soft wood 18 inches long, 1-1/2 inches wide and 1/2 inch thick.

2. One strip of wood 18 inches long, 3-1/4 inches wide and 1/2 inch thick.

3. Two cleats 3-1/4 inches wide, 3/4 inch high and 1/2 inch thick; and two cleats 1 inch wide and as high and thick as the others.

4. A strip of cork or linoleum 17 inches long and a little less than an inch wide.

To construct the spreading-board, take the two narrow strips of wood, place them one-fourth inch apart and on the under side fasten them across the ends of the longer cleats. Then on the same side as the cleats tack the piece of cork or linoleum over the space between the strips of board, and as the cleats are one-half inch wide the linoleum should cover all the space left. Then midway the boards fasten the two smaller cleats. Fig. 135 shows a cross-section of the spreading-board just in front of these two middle cleats. Now it is ready for the bottom board which will fit exactly if directions are followed, and this completes it. The space between the two upper boards is wide enough to take in the body of the moth or butterfly. The cork or linoleum below the space will hold firmly the pin on which the butterfly is impaled. The cleats hold the top and bottom boards apart and so protect the points of the pins. Spreading-boards may be made much smaller or much larger to suit moths of different sizes; the space between the top boards must always be large enough to admit the body of the insect.

[Illustration: _Fig. 135. A cross-section of spreading-board in front of the cleat "d" in Fig. 134._]

To use the spreading-board: Insert the pin with the butterfly on it into the linoleum just far enough so that the body of the insect will be in the space between the boards up to the wings, Fig. 135. Place the wings out flat on the board and fasten them there with narrow strips of paper pinned across them, Fig. 134, _a_. While held down by these strips of paper arrange them so that the hind margins of the front wings shall cover the front margins of the hind wings and shall be in a line at right angles to the body; then pin larger pieces of paper over the rest of the wings, Fig. 134, _b_. Sometimes isinglass is used instead of paper to hold the wings down, Fig. 134, _c_. The insects should be left on the spreading-board at least three days; and when the board has insects on it, it should be kept in a box where the museum pests and mice cannot get at it.

Sometimes when the moths are not spread soon after being killed, they become so stiff that the wings cannot be moved without breaking them. In such cases the insects should be put on paper in a jar which has some wet sand in the bottom and which can be covered tightly. The air in such a can is so moist that in two or three days the insect will become limber and may be spread with ease.

WHERE TO COLLECT INSECTS.

The border of a piece of woods where many shrubs and weeds are growing is an especially good place for collecting many kinds of insects. Any place where there is a great variety of plants and flowers will give a variety of insects. Banks of streams and underneath stones in the fields are good places for collecting.

WHEN TO COLLECT INSECTS.

The best time of the year is during the summer months. The best time of day is in the forenoon after eight o'clock, and in the twilight at evening.

At night many moths may be caught by making a paste of sugar and water (unrefined sugar is best) and painting it upon tree trunks with a brush after sunset. The paste should cover a space two inches wide and several inches long. After dark seek these places cautiously with a lantern and moths will be found sucking the paste; these may be caught with the killing bottle if you move carefully so as not to frighten them; they do not seem to mind the light of the lantern.

Electric street-lights attract many insects which may be caught in the net. A lamp set in an open window is also a very good lure on warm nights in the spring and summer.

ARRANGING THE INSECTS IN BOXES.

[Illustration: _Fig. 136. a, Cricket. b, Grasshopper._]

After collecting insects comes the desire to arrange them properly, putting together in neat rows those that resemble each other. To classify insects correctly requires much study. The scope of this leaflet admits of only a few suggestions about the most common insects.

_Dragon Flies._--There are many kinds of these, but they all have four wings, finely netted and transparent, the hind wings being as large or larger than the front wings. These are perfectly harmless insects.

_Grasshoppers, Crickets and Katydids._--These are known to all, Fig. 136. There are two families of grasshoppers: those with long horns or antennæ and those with short antennæ. Katydids, crickets, cockroaches and walking-sticks are near relatives to the grasshoppers.

_Bugs._--These insects have the front pair of wings thick and heavy at the base and thin and transparent at the tips, Fig. 137, _b_. The squash-bug, the chinch-bug, and the electric-light bug are examples of these. Some bugs have the front wings entirely thin and transparent and sloping like a steep roof over the back of the insect, like the cicada, Fig. 137, _a_; and the Brownie bug, Fig. 137, _c_, _d_.

[Illustration: _Fig. 137. a, Cicada. b, Stink-bug. c, Leaf-hopper. d, Leaf-hopper--front view._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 138. Beetles--showing the pin through the right wing cover. a, Snapping beetle. b, Wood-boring beetle. c, Water beetle._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 139. Flies--showing the knobs just below the wings. Note that flies have only two wings. a, Crane fly. b, Pomace fly--enlarged._]

_Beetles._--These have hard wing-covers which meet in a straight line down the back and have a pair of thin wings folded under them, Fig. 138. The "June bug" or "May beetle" and the potato beetle are good examples of beetles.

[Illustration: _Fig. 140. a, Wasp. b, Bee. Note these have four wings._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 141. The Red Admiral butterfly. Note the knobbed antennæ._]

_Flies._--These have only two wings, usually transparent. Behind each of these wings a short thread with a knob on it extends out on each side of the body instead of hind wings, Fig. 139. House-flies, horse-flies and mosquitoes are examples of flies.

_Bees, Wasps and Ants._--Bees, wasps and the winged form of ants have four transparent wings, Fig. 140. Some flies resemble bees and wasps, but if examined it will be found that they have only two wings instead of four.

[Illustration: _Fig. 142. The Cabbage butterfly._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 143. The Bass-wood leaf-roller moth._]

_Butterflies and Moths._--Butterflies and moths may be told apart by the following character: The antennæ or horns of the butterflies are always threadlike and knobbed at the tip, Figs. 141, 142, while the antennæ of moths are in various shapes, but never bear knobs at the tips, Figs. 143, 144, 145, 146.

[Illustration: _Fig. 144. The Imperial moth. A common night-flying moth._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 145. An under-wing moth._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 146. The Luna moth. A common night-flying species._]

DEALERS IN ENTOMOLOGICAL SUPPLIES.

The following is a list of the dealers in entomological supplies that have advertisements in the current American entomological journals:

A. Smith & Sons, 269 Pearl Street, New York, N. Y.

John Akhurst, 78 Ashland Place, Brooklyn, N. Y.

M. Abbott Frazar, 93 Sudbury Street, Boston, Mass.

Entomological Society of Ontario, Victoria Hall, London, Ont.

Queen & Co., 1010 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa.

The Bausch & Lomb Optical Company, 515-543 N. St. Paul Street, Rochester, N. Y.

LEAFLET XIX.

SOME TENT-MAKERS.[24]

BY ANNA BOTSFORD COMSTOCK.

[24] Teachers' Leaflet No. 5, June, 1897.

It is unfortunate that there is, throughout the country, a prevailing dislike for the small creatures called "worms." This dislike is, in most instances, the result of wrong training, and is by no means a natural instinct. As evidence of this, witness the joy with which the small boy or even the small girl, handles "bait" when preparing to go fishing; although of all common "worms" surely the angle-worm is least attractive from any point of view. A still more striking example is the hardihood with which young fishermen catch the dobson to use as a lure for bass--for the dobson is not only very ugly in appearance but is also vicious, often pinching severely the careless fingers of its captors. Thus the dislike for insects being the result of the point of view, it should be the first duty of the teacher to remove this repulsion. In the lesson which follows there is no occasion for teacher or pupils to touch the insects unless they choose to do so; but an attempt is made to arouse an interest in the habits and ways of insect life. If we can succeed in arousing the child's interest in the actions of a caterpillar, he will soon forget his dislike for the "little brothers" which live upon foliage and which experience miraculous changes of form during their short lives.

In selecting the Apple-tree Tent Caterpillar for this lesson we have been guided by the following facts: First, it is to be found in early spring; second, its life-history from egg to cocoon is accomplished within the limits of the spring term of our schools; third, it is common everywhere; fourth, it is an important insect from an economic point of view, and the children may be taught how to keep it out of the orchards, thus making the lesson of practical use.

In this lesson the teacher is encouraged to use her own methods and originate new ones to make the work interesting. The Leaflet is meant for the exclusive use of the teacher and the text should not be shown to the pupils. The pictures on page 235 are to be shown to the pupils at the teacher's discretion. When answers are herein given to the questions asked, they are meant to aid the teacher in drawing out the correct replies from the children.

MATERIALS NEEDED.

1. A pocket lens or a tripod lens is desirable, but not a necessity. These lenses may be bought from or ordered through any jeweler or bookseller. They cost from twenty-five cents to one dollar each. It is worth while for any teacher to possess one of these magnifiers as a means of interesting her pupils in many things.

2. A bottle, a broad-bottomed one being preferable so that it will not tip over easily. This bottle is to be filled with water in which a small branch of the apple tree may be placed to keep it fresh. A common ink bottle will do to begin with. Fig. 147.

3. A wooden or pasteboard box, twelve or fourteen inches square,--a soap box or hat box will do. In place of a cover, nail or paste mosquito netting or cheese cloth over the top; remove the bottom so that the box may be placed over the bottle and the branch of apple in it. This is called a "breeding-cage," and its use is to keep the insects from straying about the schoolroom.

4. A twig bearing the egg-mass of the tent caterpillar. These are easily found before the leaves appear on the apple tree or the wild cherry tree.

[Illustration: _Fig. 147. The bottle with the twigs bearing the egg-masses. The tent is being woven below._]

METHODS OF USING THE LEAFLET.

The teacher should give the pupils a preliminary talk on tents. Speak of the tents used by Indians, by armies, by circuses, by campers, and describe them each in turn. The teacher should use all the facts at her disposal, and all her ingenuity to get the children interested in this subject. Spend a little time for two or three days in discussing tents, and get the pupils to tell orally or in essays all they know about tents. When sufficient interest is thus aroused, tell them this: "The reason we have talked about tents is that we are going to study some little folks who make tents and live in them. Their tents are not made of bark like the Indian's or of canvas like the soldier's, but are made of the finest silk, which is spun and woven by the tenters themselves. These silken tents are not pitched upon the ground and fastened down by ropes and pegs, for these folk, like the Swiss Family Robinson, live in trees. Many people live in one of these tree tents, and they are all brothers and sisters. Now, just where these tents are made, and how they are made, and what sort of little people make them are things which we shall find out if we watch carefully and patiently."

LESSON I.--THE EGGS. FIG. 149, _a_.

The teacher, having found the egg-mass, should show it to the pupils and let them, during play hours, collect some for themselves. Say that they are eggs, but explain no further. Get the children to examine the egg-masses; ask the following questions:

On what part of the trees are these egg-masses found?

What is the shape of the egg-mass? (Bring out the fact that they look like a portion of the twig swollen or budded.)

What is the color of the egg-mass?

Is there much difference in color between the egg-mass and the branch?

Has this similarity in color any use? (Develop the idea that the shape and the color of the egg-mass make it resemble the twig so closely as to hide it from birds or any animal that would be likely to eat the eggs.)

Does the egg-mass shine?

Why does it shine? _Answer._ Because there is a coat of varnish around the eggs.

Why was varnish put around the eggs? (Get the answer by asking why varnish is put on wood. Varnish is put around the eggs to preserve them and to keep them dry during the rains and snows of autumn and winter.)

If the eggs are near the hatching period the varnish will have scaled off, revealing the tiny white eggs; if not, let the teacher remove the varnish with a knife or pin, thus exposing the eggs. If the teacher has a lens the children should view the eggs through it. Exhibit the picture Fig. 149, b, which represents the eggs greatly enlarged showing the net-work of cement which holds them in place. Ask the children to compare the shape of these eggs with that of bird's eggs, and bring out the fact that these are thimble-shaped. Then ask the pupils to guess what sort of mother laid these eggs, cemented them fast with a network, and then covered them with a coat of waterproof varnish. After sufficient interest is aroused on this point, explain to them: "One day last July a little moth or miller was flitting about the tree from which these twigs were taken. If we could have been there and caught her we should have found her a pretty little creature with four wings covered with down and a soft fuzzy body. In color she was a pale rosy-brown, and had two bands of pale yellow across each front wing." (Call attention to the picture of the moth, Fig. 149, e.[25])

[25] If a specimen of the moth could be obtained, it would be much more interesting to the children than the picture. The teacher can collect or breed the moths in July to use the next spring to illustrate the lesson.

"This is the little mother which laid her eggs in a ring around the twig and covered them with a waterproof coat to keep them safe and sound until this spring, when they will hatch."

What will come out of these eggs when they hatch? The teacher should not answer this question, but let the pupils watch the eggs and discover the answer for themselves.

Place the twig with the egg-mass upon it in the bottle of water (Fig. 147). It will be best if this twig is a part of a forked branch, so that the caterpillars may make their web upon it (Fig. 148). As soon as the eggs hatch ask the following questions:

What sort of young ones hatch out of the eggs?

Are they like their mother?

What color are they?

Why are their heads so large? _Answer._ So that they can gnaw the lid off the egg and thus get out.

Why should the young ones of a pretty moth be little black caterpillars?

(Leave this answer for future investigation.)

After the caterpillars hatch it will be necessary to bring in each day fresh apple twigs with buds and leaves on them so as to feed the little prisoners. It is very desirable that they be kept alive until they have begun their web and have molted at least twice. If they show a disposition to wander off, put the breeding cage over the bottle and branch and so keep them confined with their food.

To supplement the study of the imprisoned caterpillars, study should be made at the same time of the insects out of doors and under natural conditions. If none appear upon an apple or wild cherry tree near the school-house, the teacher should transfer a colony to such a tree (Fig. 148). This may be done by fastening a twig with an egg-mass upon it to a branch of the tree. If too late to get the unhatched eggs, get a nest with the small worms in it and tie that to the convenient branch instead. This study of the insects out of doors is very necessary in discovering their normal habits.

LESSON II. THE CATERPILLARS. FIG. 149, _c_.

If the eggs hatch before the leaves appear, upon what do the caterpillars feed?

How long is it after hatching before the caterpillars commence to make their tent?

Where is the tent always formed?

_Answer._ In the fork of the branches.

Why is this so?

_Answer._ The forking branches offer a convenient support upon which to stretch the tent: and when, as in the case out of doors, the tent is spread in a fork of the larger limbs, these limbs afford two branching roads for the caterpillars to follow in searching for food.

Let the pupils make drawings of the tent as soon as it is large enough to be seen well.

What is the color of the caterpillars when they are a week old?

Upon what do they feed?

At what time of day do they feed?

When on a tree, how far from their tent do they go for food?

Are the paths over which the caterpillars travel when searching for food marked in any way?

[Illustration: _Fig. 148. A young colony of tent-makers on a cherry tree._]

_Answer._ This caterpillar spins a silken thread wherever it goes and therefore leaves a trail of silk behind it.

Of what is the tent made?

Compare the tent with a spider's web and note the differences.

Where does the silk come from, of which the tent is made?

_Answer._ The silk glands of the caterpillar are situated near the mouth, while those of the spider are on the rear end of the body.

LESSON III. HOW THE INSECTS GROW.

The caterpillars shed their skins about five times. The first molt occurs about three days after they hatch; the second molt about four days later; and the third molt about six days after the second. After each molt, the color and markings of the caterpillars are somewhat changed. During some of the molts the pupils should watch a caterpillar change his skin. After the class has seen this operation the teacher may give the following lesson:

Where is your skeleton?

What is it made of?

What is it for? Bring out the fact that the skeleton is a support for the muscles and organs of the body.

Where is an insect's skeleton? Get as many answers to this question as possible, then explain:

The insect's skeleton is on the outside of its body instead of a skin, and the flesh and muscles are supported by it on the inside instead of on the outside like our own. As this skeleton is hard it cannot stretch; as the insect grows and gets too large the shell bursts open and the insect walks out of it. Now underneath this old hard skeleton a new one is formed, which is soft and flexible at first, and so stretches to accommodate the growing insect. After a little time this new skeleton also hardens and has to be shed when it is too small to suit its owner.

Notes should be made by the pupil upon the change of color and markings after the different molts, and the process of molting should be described.

LESSON IV. THE PUPA. FIG. 149, _d_.

In ordinary seasons, about the middle of May, the caterpillars get their growth. If those in the breeding cage have died or have not thrived, bring in a few full-grown caterpillars from the orchard and put them on some branches in the breeding cage. Give them fresh food each day as long as they will eat; also place some sticks and chips on the bottom of the breeding cage for the worms to "spin up" on. Then have the children observe the following things:

How do the caterpillars begin their cocoons?

Where are the cocoons made?

How are they made?

Draw a picture of a cocoon.

About a week after a cocoon is made, open it carefully with a pair of scissors so as not to hurt the inmate, and let the pupil see the change that has come over the caterpillar.

Have the pupils describe the pupa.

Let the pupils make drawings of the pupa.

The moths will hardly emerge from the cocoons until after the close of the school term. The children should be encouraged to gather the cocoons from the fences around the orchards and from the sticks and the branches on the ground and to carry them home. The cocoons may be placed in pasteboard boxes and kept until the moths emerge, about the middle of July.

LESSON V. DESTROYING THE CATERPILLARS.

After the caterpillars are fully grown and all the processes of growth have been observed by the pupils, the teacher should give a lesson upon the injury which they do to trees and the necessity of keeping the orchards free from these pests. This lesson should be given guardedly so as not to encourage the children to cruelty in killing insects. The teacher should always try to inculcate in the child reverence for life, that wonderful force, which we can so easily take from a creature but which we can never give back. It is better to appeal to the child's sense of justice in giving this lesson. The teacher may vary it to suit her own ideas, but in substance it might be given somewhat as follows:

"All life is sacred; the smallest worm has as good a right to live in the sight of God as you or any child has. Life should never be taken except when necessary. However, no one has the right to interfere with the rights of another. Neither the child nor the worm has any right to trespass upon the property of any one else."

"Let us see whether these caterpillars are trespassers or not. The farmer works hard to earn the money to buy the land upon which the orchard is planted; he works hard to earn the money with which to buy the young trees; he works hard to set out the trees and cultivate the orchard; therefore the orchard and the fruit of it are his property, and he has a right to drive away all thieves. If men or children steal the fruit, he has a right to appeal to the law and have them fined or imprisoned. If worms come and injure the tree by eating up the foliage, he has a right to keep them out if he can. The leaves are necessary to the tree, for if they are destroyed the tree cannot get the air it needs to keep it vigorous and enable it to mature its fruit. We have seen that these caterpillars destroy the leaves, and thus do great injury to the apple crop. We therefore have a right to destroy these little robbers, as that is the only way we can keep them out of our orchards."

How can the caterpillars be destroyed?

The egg-masses can be collected in winter and early spring from young orchards, and burned.

Tie bits of suet or fresh fat pork to the branches of the trees and thus induce chickadees, nuthatches, and woodpeckers to visit the orchard in winter. These birds will destroy eggs and cocoons of the tent caterpillar, and of other insect pests also.

In large, old trees, we must wait until later. Ask the pupils the following questions:

At what times did we find the worms in their tents? _Answer._ Early morning; late afternoons; and during cold, dark days.

If we should destroy the tents in the middle of a warm, sunny day, what would happen? _Answer._ The caterpillars, being out feeding on the leaves, would not be hurt, and as soon as they came back would make another tent.

If the tent is destroyed in the early morning or late afternoon or on a cold, dark day, what would happen? _Answer._ The caterpillars, all being in the tent, would be destroyed.

How may the tents be destroyed? _Answer._ By wiping them out with a long pole on one end of which is wound a rag saturated with kerosene. Or by burning them out with a torch.

Is it best to destroy the caterpillars early in the season, while they are still small, or to wait until they are large and are about ready to pupate.

If the trees were sprayed with Paris green in the early spring, what would happen? _Answer._ The caterpillars would be killed as soon as they began to eat, when they were first hatched.

When these caterpillars feed on the leaves of wild cherry they are doing no damage to an orchard. Therefore, when the tents appear on wild cherry trees have we any right to destroy them? _Answer._ The wise and careful farmer does not allow wild cherry trees to grow along his fences if they will become breeding places for insect enemies which will next year attack his orchards.

[Illustration: _Fig. 149. The Curious History of a Tent Caterpillar. a, The masses of eggs on the twigs of an apple tree. b, The eggs enlarged. c, A full grown caterpillar. d, Cocoons. e, The moth, or adult insect._]

LEAFLET XX.

MOSQUITOES.[26]

BY MARY ROGERS MILLER.

"Nature-Study is learning those things in nature that are best worth knowing, to the end of doing those things that make life most worth living."

--PROFESSOR HODGE in _Nature-Study and Life_.

[26] Home Nature-Study Course, Vol. IV, No. 23, May, 1902.

[Illustration]

Spite of all the efforts of scientists and nature-students to popularize the mosquito, its reputation as a public nuisance is as well sustained as ever, and it seems destined to remain as unpopular as were its ancestors. There is no doubt that these creatures "abound" and that "they are great annoyances to both man and animals," as Dr. Howard tells us in "The Insect Book;" but he has laid a new and even more deadly sin at their door in stating, as he does in no uncertain terms, that "they are active agents in the transfer of disease."

There seems to be no escape from the attention of these persistent "imps o' evil." Though we travel to far Alaska or to icy Greenland we cannot be free. Since we are doomed to existence in the same world with the mosquito it behooves us to discover, if possible, some way to turn the creature to account for our entertainment or instruction. Forget for the moment that you despise mosquitoes, and let us study their ways. By making its life history the subject of some of our lessons we may at least learn how the mosquito lives and develops; and later we can turn this knowledge to practical account. Since for many generations these creatures have made the human race the subject of insistent study, it is no more than fair that the tables should be turned!

You are not good nature-students until you have recognized and overcome your prejudices. You read the life history of the rabbit and you think you hate its enemies. You watch a family of foxes with their cunning ways, and the mother's care for her young and you cannot help sympathizing with them in their struggle for existence. Every creature in its turn becomes interesting to you when you find yourself wondering about how it makes its home, rears its young, and gets its food. As you get nearer to nature you will cease to feel any pride in the fact that you "hate" snakes, mosquitoes, and all such "varmints." Indeed that hatred, born of ignorance, will have given place to sympathy and interest. You have a new point of view.

One of the first questions asked of the returning animals in early spring is, "How have you spent the winter?" The bluebird and the robin show no signs of weariness after their long flight from the South. The "woolly bear" caterpillars look just as they did in October. The early butterflies are a trifle worn and shabby after their hibernation. But who has thought to inquire where and how the mosquito has spent the cold season? "Who cares," one may say, "so long as they don't stay around where we are as they did last summer?"

[Illustration: _Fig. 150. Mosquito's wing._]

Suppose we make it our business from now on to care about such things, and to inquire into the ways our plant and animal neighbors have of living and of getting a living. Are you quite sure that the mosquitoes have not spent their winter under your protection? If in April you had had occasion to frequent either garret or cellar there you might have found them. By dozens and scores they were waiting for the return of warm weather to free them. Many of them winter not as eggs, larvæ, or pupæ, but as winged adults, as _mosquitoes_. This rather interferes with the prevalent notion that mosquitoes live but for a day. Would that this were true, and might that day be short!

[Illustration: _Fig. 151. Raft of eggs, greatly enlarged._]

THE LIFE HISTORY OF THE MOSQUITO.

The life history of a mosquito is in four chapters, some of which are exceedingly short, others long. The length of each may be varied by the weather and the season. Moisture and warmth are particularly advantageous to the rapid development of these creatures. Ten days in hot weather may be sufficient time for the growth of a generation of them, from egg to adult. There are many generations in a year.

[Illustration: _Fig. 152. The larva or wiggler._]

The larvæ of mosquitoes are aquatic. They live in stagnant water everywhere, in ponds, swamps, ditches, puddles, rain-water barrels, and horse-troughs. In early spring the female mosquito that has wintered in your garret will probably go to the nearest rain-water barrel or water-tank. She finds her way by instinct, before the sun is up. When you go to replenish your pitcher you will find a little flat cluster of eggs like a tiny raft floating on the surface (Fig. 151). It is dark-colored and the chances are you will not see it unless it gets into your pitcher. By two o'clock in the afternoon there may be from two to four hundred lively little wigglers in the water. Possibly they will wait until the following day. They all hatched from the eggs of one mosquito. They hitch and twitch about in the water, coming often to the surface and hanging there for a moment (Fig. 152). You call them "wigglers." But did you ever wonder why they wiggle, why they come so often to the surface, and why they thrust up the little tube which projects from near the end of the body? Did you ever ask what they find to eat in the water, and how they eat it?

[Illustration: _Fig. 153. The active pupa._]

The larval stage lasts about ten days in hot summer weather, but longer when the days are cool. Then comes a change in form into the pupa (Fig. 153). The creature is still active and aquatic, though no food is taken. It does not stay long away from the surface while in this stage. Finally, after two or more days as a pupa, the full-grown mosquito emerges and takes wing, leaving its pupa case floating on the top of the water like a forlorn little derelict.

ENEMIES OF THE MOSQUITO.

Besides man, the mosquito has many natural enemies. In the water especially they fall easy victims to the thousand-and-one insect ogres. The nymphs of dragon-flies are especially fond of wigglers, and there has been much said and written about raising dragon-flies as a safeguard against mosquitoes. Most of the predaceous insects which live in still water feed on young mosquitoes, while the adults often fall prey to their more swiftly flying insect neighbors.

HOW TO STUDY THE MOSQUITO.

Over and around the tumbler place a piece of close-woven mosquito netting to confine the adult insects. A glass tumbler two-thirds full of rain-water, a little cluster of eggs, or a half dozen wigglers, a keen observer, and you have a nature-study opportunity not to be surpassed in the finest laboratory. If you have already seen a part of the life history, do not be satisfied until you have completed your chain of observations. Get the eggs; watch the hatching, the molting, the transformations. See every stage. Learn something new every time you look at the wiggler or the mature mosquito. It is not at all necessary that you let these insects escape into the school-room and cause trouble.

Those who wish more minute description, with many illustrations of mosquitoes of different kinds, should obtain from the Division of Publications, Department of Agriculture, the published results of Dr. L. O. Howard's studies of mosquitoes. In this pamphlet, from which the drawings in this lesson are copied, the subject of the transfer of disease germs by mosquitoes is very thoroughly discussed, with pictures which distinguish between the common mosquito and those which transfer malaria and other diseases.

Those scientists who had to do with the naming of the many species of mosquitoes had certainly a sense of humor. One would think they named the creatures according to the mildness or malignity of their bite. A few of the names are as follows:

Culex excitans Culex pungens Culex irritans Culex stimulans Culex perturbans Culex excrucians

THE CRUSADE AGAINST MOSQUITOES.

BY M. V. SLINGERLAND.

There is now a world-wide crusade against mosquitoes, extending from the wilds of Africa through the noted malarial districts of Italy to America. In America a National Mosquito Extermination Society has been formed. This extensive crusade is due to the practical demonstration that some kinds of mosquitoes may transmit malaria, yellow fever and probably other diseases of human beings.

All mosquitoes must have water in which to develop, and the warfare against them consists largely in destroying their watery breeding grounds. This is being done on a large scale, either by draining or by filling in marshes, pools, and similar places which often swarm with the "wigglers." Large areas of such mosquito-breeding waste lands in New Jersey and on Long Island are thus being reclaimed and the mosquito nuisance largely abated.

Aquaria, rain barrels, tanks, small ponds and similar places can be kept free from the "wigglers" by introducing small fish, as gold fish or silver fish, sunfish, "killies," roaches or minnows. An interesting and instructive object lesson could be given by putting a few minnows from a near-by brook into the school aquarium or into a specially prepared glass dish well stocked with the "wigglers."

One can easily prevent mosquitoes from breeding in rain barrels or tanks by covering them with mosquito netting.

Another practicable and successful method is to pour or sprinkle kerosene oil every two or three weeks in a thin film over the surface of cesspools, rain barrels, tanks, ponds or any other body of sluggish water where the "wigglers" are found. This oil film kills the "wigglers" (both larvæ and pupæ) by preventing them from getting to the surface to breathe, and it also prevents the mother mosquito from laying her eggs on the water. There are patent preparations or oils which penetrate all through the water, killing the "wigglers" but spoiling the water for general use, so that such oils are usually applied only to infested cesspools, sewer basins, or manure pits.

By a little concerted effort of local officials, individuals, or by the school children in applying whichever of the above methods is most practicable, much interesting and valuable work could be accomplished and the pestiferous mosquito largely eliminated in many localities.

LEAFLET XXI.

THE WAYS OF THE ANT.[27]

BY ANNA BOTSFORD COMSTOCK.

[27] Home Nature-Study Course, Vol. V, No. 1. October, 1903.

[Illustration]

For many years ants have been recognized as among the most interesting of the little animals that people our fields. However, not until recently have we begun to understand, even in a small measure, their economic importance and the part they play in maintaining the balance in insect life. Therefore, we shall give a few studies of ants and their ways, and as a knowledge of their habits is necessary to begin with, we will take up the ant-nest first.

AN ANT-NEST.

Two panes of glass laid flat one on the other with a space between of one-eighth of an inch or less, these panes covered with a piece of dark paper or wood to keep out the light and then placed on something that will allow them to be surrounded by water; a bit of blotting paper two inches square, dampened and placed at one end of the glass chamber--these are all the materials and the art necessary for the construction of a perfectly equipped ant-nest.

Once we wished to make an ant-nest hurriedly, and this is the way we did it: we chose an agate wash basin (Fig. 154), as this would not rust, and filled it half-full of water; in this we made an island, by placing in it a three-pint agate basin turned bottom side up. We took two discarded negatives, size 4x5 inches, and cleaned off the films; then we placed one of the pieces of glass on the basin-island, took the stumps of four burnt matches and placed one on each side of this glass near its edge; then we placed the other piece of glass on top, letting it rest on the matches to make a chamber just high enough for the ants to live in comfortably. This done, we took the cover of a cigar-box and cut it down to the size of the negatives, put a screw-eye in the center to lift it by and placed it on top of the upper glass to make the chamber below quite dark. Then we took a trowel and fruit-can and went after some inhabitants for our island. We went to an open pasture and turned over stones until we found beneath one a heap of yellowish grain-like pupæ and little translucent whitish bodies, which we knew were larvæ, all being cared for by swarms of worker-ants. One of us pushed the trowel beneath, taking up dirt and all, while the other held the can open, into which the trowel was emptied. We hastened back and as gently as possible, taking care to hurt none of our little captives, placed the contents of the can on the top of the nest.

[Illustration: _Fig. 154. An improvised ant-nest._]

As the first thought of an ant is never for its own safety, but for the safety of its infant sisters, the little workers began to hunt for a safe and dark place in which to stow away their charges. In running about they soon discovered the space between the two pieces of glass and in a few hours the young ones were moved into the new quarters. Then we cleaned away the earth on top of the nest, and by lifting the cover we were able to see all that was going on within. The water in the wash-basin prevented any of our uneasy captives from escaping, as these little people, so clever in most things, have never yet mastered the art of swimming.

I have an ant-nest on my table as I write, shown in Fig. 156. Instead of matches to keep the two pieces of glass apart I have a narrow strip of canton flannel glued around the edge of the glass floor except for two little doors at the opposite corners; there is also a narrow strip of cloth partitioning the chamber into two rooms with a door at one end. One room I left empty and in the other I placed a bit of blotting paper which I keep damp by occasionally adding a few drops of water. The nest is placed upon a piece of plank 18 inches square. Around the plank near the edge is a groove about an inch deep made with a chisel and kept full of water, so that my ants have a castle with a moat. It was necessary to paint this bit of plank thoroughly, above and below, to keep it from warping.

[Illustration: _Fig. 155. Ant-nest, on a piece of plank, which has a moat near its edge to confine the insects._]

The ants in my nest I found on a hillside beneath a stone; they are brownish with yellow legs and a little less than a quarter of an inch in length. They were stupid at first and would not discover the chamber prepared for them, but persisted in hiding their young under bits of earth which were brought in with them. So I made a scoop of a sheet of writing paper and with it placed a heap of the young, with a few of the nurses, in the empty chamber, then put on the glass ceiling and cover and left them. In a few hours the whole colony had moved into this chamber, but evidently it was not humid enough for the health of the young, and by the next morning the pupæ and larvæ and eggs were all in the other chamber arranged around the edges of the blotting paper.

What I have seen of interest in this nest on my table would fill a small volume, if written out in detail. Just now a worker approached a pupa, that appears through the lens like a little bag of meal tied at one end with a black string; she examined it carefully with her antennæ and concluded it needed to be moved, and, though it is as large as she, picked it up in her jaws and carried it to a position which she regarded as more favorable. Then she approached a larva which looks like a little crook-neck squash, inquired as to its needs with her antennæ and then cleaned it with her tongue, as a cat licks a kitten, and fed it. Her next duty was to pick up a whole bunch of little white oblong eggs and scurry off with them to get them out of the light. Then she stopped to help another worker to straighten out the soft legs and antennæ of a pale, new sister that was just emerging from the pupa skin. By the time I had seen as much as this I felt it my duty to replace the cover, as the light greatly disturbs the little captives. It is said that if a yellow glass be used for the upper piece, the ants feel that they are in darkness, and their actions may be watched constantly without disturbing them.

For a permanent nest, it is necessary to secure a queen, which lays all the eggs for the colony. She may be recognized by her larger size and may sometimes be found in a nest under the stones. However, it is so difficult to obtain a queen that I more often bring in the young and the workers; the latter will be content as long as they have the babies to feed and bring up; when finally this is accomplished, I usually take my colony back to its nest in the field, where it is made most welcome. This may seem sentimental, but after you have watched these little people working so hard and taking such devoted care of their baby sisters and doing so many wise things in their home, you will be loth to let the tiny creatures die of discouragement because they have nothing else to do, and you will be still more loth to let them loose to scatter, bewildered and helpless, over a strange earth. However, I have to be very careful and mark the nest to which they belong, for if I should put them near another colony, my poor captives would soon die inglorious deaths.

Food which we provide for the ants in captivity should be varied and should be put on the island, rather than in the nest as we may thus be able to better clean away the refuse. Crackers or bread soaked in sweetened water, sponge cake, berry-jam, sugar, bits of raw meat, yolks of hard boiled eggs crushed, freshly killed insects or earth-worms, all may prove acceptable to our little friends. Their food may be soft but should not be in a fluid state.

QUESTIONS ABOUT ANTS.

_If you have not made an ant-nest and observed the ant as indicated, make some field observations. These may be made with the naked eye, or with a tripod lens. Such a lens costs about thirty-five cents._

1. Have you ever seen an ant-hill? If so, describe it.

2. Do all ants build mound nests?

3. In what situations have you found ant-nests?

4. How many kinds of ants do you know?

5. Have you ever seen winged ants? If so, describe the experience.

6. What is the reason for a winged form of ants?

7. Have you observed ants meet and "converse" with each other? If so, how did they do it?

8. Have you seen the ants carrying their young? If so, how do they do it?

9. If you have made an ant-nest, tell what you have seen going on within it.

10. Tell any experiences you have had with ants, that show their courage, energy or cleverness.

[Illustration: _Fig. 156. Uncovered ant-nest, viewed from above, looking through the glass ceiling._

_The white pieces around the edges and at the center are strips of canton flannel, forming walls and partition to the nest. Note the doors at the lower left and upper right hand corners and at lower end of the partition. The piece of blotting paper in the chamber at the left chanced to have a picture of an eagle upon it. The small white objects are pupæ, assorted in heaps._]

ANTS AND THEIR HERDS.[28]

[28] Home Nature-Study Course, Vol. V, No. 8, May, 1904.

[Illustration: _Fig. 157. Rose infested with aphids or plant-lice._]

Very soon after the green leaves come, one may notice that the ants seem to be greatly interested in getting to the tops of trees, bushes and vines. If one watches for only a short time, he may see them hastening up and down with that important ant-air which says plainly, "There now, don't hinder me, I haven't a moment to waste." If we should follow with our eyes one of these hurried six-footed Marthas on her way up a tree, we would find that her business was that of milk-maid. Her cows are there pasturing on the leaves overhead, and she hastens to them coaxing for the milk, which is a clear drop of sweet honeydew. For many years entomologists repeated the statement that the honeydew secreted by aphids or plant-lice for the use of the ants came from the two little tubes on the back of the insect. It is easy to see how this mistake came about; the tubes were there, and so was the honeydew; the tubes suggested a cow's udder, and as the ants use the honeydew the natural inference was that it came from the tubes. This interesting error has been printed in so many honorable books, that it has become a classic. As a matter of fact, the caterpillars of our little, blue butterflies do have glands on the abdomen which secrete honeydew for the use of the ants; but the honeydew of the plant-lice, like honey itself, is manufactured in the alimentary canal, and issues from it. Observations have shown that each individual plant-louse may produce from five to seven drops of honeydew in twenty-four hours. If our cows could produce as much in proportion, then a good Holstein would give something like six thousand pounds of milk per day, and would be a highly profitable animal to have in the dairy. Although the honeydew does not come from the little tubes on the back of the plant-louse, yet those tubes have their uses. I once observed a young spider approaching an aphid, which was facing its enemy. As the spider approached, the aphid lifted its abdomen, and thrust one of these tubes over directly in the spider's face, and on this tube there suddenly appeared a little ball of yellow wax. The whole act was so like a pugilist thrusting his fist in his enemy's face that I laughed. The spider retreated and the aphid let its abdomen fall back in its natural position, but the little wax ball remained for some time on the tip of the tube. A German scientist, Mr. Busgen, of the University of Jena, discovered that a plant-louse smeared the eyes and jaws of his enemy, the aphis-lion, with this wax which dried as soon as applied. In action it was something like throwing a basin of paste at the head of an attacking party. Mr. Busgen discovered that the aphis-lion thus treated was obliged to stop and clean himself before he could go on with his hunt, and meantime the aphid walked off in safety.

[Illustration: _Fig. 158. A stable made by ants for plant-lice._]

The honeydew is excreted in such quantities that often the pavement beneath trees may be seen to be spattered by the drops of this sweet rain. It seems to be excreted solely for attracting the ants. In return for this, the ants give care and protection to their herds. They sometimes take them into their nests and care for them. In one case, at least, one species of ant builds for one species of aphid (which lives upon dogwood) a little mud stable which protects the aphids from all enemies. This stable is neatly placed at the fork of the twigs and has a little circular door by which the ants may enter (Fig. 158). The lady-bug larvæ and the ant-lions both feed voraciously on the aphids; an ant will attack single-handed one of these depredators, although it be much larger than herself, and will drive it away or perish in the attempt.

Some so-called practical people say, "Let us study only those things in Nature that affect our pocketbook, and not waste our time studying irrelevant things." If this spirit had animated scientists from the first, many of the most important economic discoveries would never have been made. This relation of ants to aphids is an example to the point. For a hundred years has the fact been known that ants use the aphids for their cows, and the practical men said, "This is a very pretty story, but what we want is some method of killing the aphids." It remained for Professor Forbes, of Illinois, to show the practical application of this "pretty story" in the life history of the corn-root plant-louse, which did great damage to the corn crop of the West. These plant-lice winter in the ground wherever they chance to be left by the dying roots of the last year's crop, and with their soft bodies could never work their way in the hard earth and to the roots of the newly-planted corn in the spring. Professor Forbes discovered that the ants in these infested fields make mines along the principal roots of the new corn; and that they then go out and collect the plant-lice, and place them in these burrows, and there watch over them and protect them.

OBSERVATION LESSON ON THE RELATION OF ANTS TO PLANT-LICE.

_A reading-glass or lens may be used to advantage in making these observations._

_Find some plant near at hand that is infested by aphids in order to note from time to time the relation of ants to these little creatures. Some aphids on the petiole and leaves of the Virginia Creeper on our piazza once afforded me a convenient field for daily observation._

1. How does the ant approach the aphid and ask for honeydew?

2. Does she wait long if there is no response?

3. Does the ant step on the aphids as she runs about among them?

4. What are the colors of the aphids you have observed?

5. On what plants were they feeding?

6. What sort of mouth parts have the aphids?

7. What part of the plant is their food, and how do they get it?

8. Why does not Paris green applied to the leaves on which aphids are feeding kill them?

9. Have you seen the lady-bird larvæ or the ant-lions destroying aphids? Explain.

10. Have you ever seen the little wax balls on the tubes of the plant-lice? If so, did you note when and why they were produced?

11. Have you ever seen an ant attacking the enemies of plant-lice? Describe.

12. How do you think this relation of ants to aphids affects agriculture?

13. Study what the ants do for the aphids which infest your rose bushes. Do you infer from this that it is well to exterminate the ant colonies in your flower garden?

14. Do you know how to clear your plants of plant-lice? If so, how? If not send to Cornell or some other experiment station for a spray bulletin.

LEAFLET XXII.

THE BIRDS AND I.[29]

BY L. H. BAILEY.

[29] Teachers' Leaflet No. 10, May, 1898.

[Illustration]

The springtime belongs to the birds and me. We own it. We know when the Mayflowers and the buttercups bloom. We know when the first frogs peep. We watch the awakening of the woods. We are wet by the warm April showers. We go where we will, and we are companions. Every tree and brook and blade of grass is ours; and our hearts are full of song.

There are boys who kill the birds, and girls who want to catch them and put them in cages; and there are others who steal their eggs. The birds are not partners with them; they are only servants. Birds, like people, sing for their friends, not for their masters. I am sure that one cannot think much of the springtime and the flowers if his heart is always set upon killing or catching something. We are happy when we are free; and so are the birds.

The birds and I get acquainted all over again every spring. They have seen strange lands in the winter, and all the brooks and woods have been covered with snow. So we run and romp together, and find all the nooks and crannies which we had half forgotten since October. The birds remember the old places. The wrens pull the sticks from the old hollow rail and seem to be wild with joy to see the place again. They must be the same wrens that were here last year and the year before, for strangers could not make so much fuss over an old rail. The bluebirds and wrens look into every crack and corner for a place in which to build, and the robins and chipping-sparrows explore every tree in the old orchard.

If the birds want to live with us, we should encourage them. The first thing to do is to let them alone. Let them be as free from danger and fear as you or I. Take the hammer off the old gun, give pussy so much to eat that she will not care to hunt for birds, and keep away the boys who steal eggs and who carry sling-shots and throw stones. Plant trees and bushes about the borders of the place, and let some of them, at least, grow into tangles; then, even in the back yard, the wary cat-bird may make its home.

For some kinds of birds we can build houses. Some of the many forms which can be used are shown in the pictures at the end of this Leaflet. Any ingenious boy can suggest a dozen other patterns. Although birds may not appreciate architecture, it is well to make the houses neat and tasty by taking pains to have the proportions correct. The floor space in each compartment should be not less than five by six inches, and six by six or six by eight may be better. By cutting the boards in multiples of these numbers, one can easily make a house with several compartments; for there are some birds, as martins, tree swallows, and pigeons that like to live in families or colonies. The size of the doorway is important. It should be just large enough to admit the bird. A larger opening not only looks bad, but it exposes the inhabitants to dangers of cats and other enemies. Birds which build in houses, aside from doves and pigeons, are bluebirds, wrens, tree-swallows, martins, and sometimes the chickadees. For the wren and the chickadee the opening should be an inch augur hole, and for the others it should be about one-and-a-half inches. Only one opening should be provided for each house or compartment. A perch or door-step should be provided just below each door. It is here that the birds often stop to arrange their toilets; and when the mistress is busy with domestic affairs indoors the male-bird often sits outside and entertains her with the latest neighborhood gossip. These houses should be placed on poles or on buildings in somewhat secluded places. Martins and tree-swallows like to build their nests twenty-five feet or more above the ground, but the other birds usually prefer an elevation less than twelve feet. Newly made houses, and particularly newly painted ones, do not often attract the birds.

But if the birds and I are companions I must know them more intimately. Merely building houses for them is not enough. I want to know live and happy birds, not dead ones. We are not to know them, then, by catching them, or stuffing them, or collecting their eggs. Persons who make a business of studying birds may shoot birds now and then, and collect their eggs. But these persons are scientists and they are grown-up people. They are trying to add to the sum of human knowledge, while we want to know birds just because we want to. But even scientists do not take specimens recklessly. They do not rob nests. They do not kill brooding birds. They do not make collections merely for the sake of making them; and even their collections are less valuable than a knowledge of the bird as it lives and flies and sings.

Boys and girls should not make collections of eggs, for these collections are mere curiosities, as collections of spools and marbles are. They may afford some entertainment, to be sure, but one can find amusement in harmless ways. Some persons think that the securing of collections makes one a naturalist, but it does not. The naturalist cares more for things as they really are in their own homes than for museum specimens. One does not love the birds when he steals their eggs and breaks up their homes; and he is depriving the farmer of one of his best friends, for birds keep insects in check.

Stuffed birds do not sing and empty eggs do not hatch. Then let us go to the fields and watch the birds. Sit down on the soft grass and try to make out what the robin is doing on yonder fence or why the wren is bursting with song in the thicket. An opera-glass or spy-glass will bring them close to you. Try to find out not only what the colors and shapes and sizes are, but what their habits are. What does the bird eat? How much does it eat? Where is its nest? How many eggs does it lay? What color are they? How long does the mother bird sit? Does the father bird care for her when she is sitting? How long do the young birds remain in the nest? Who feeds them? What are they fed? Is there more than one brood in a season? Where do the birds go after breeding? Do they change their plumage? Are the mother birds and father birds unlike in size or color? How many kinds of birds do you know?

These are some of the things that every boy or girl wants to know; and we can find out by watching the birds! There is no harm in visiting the nests, if one does it in the right way. I have visited hundreds of them and have kept many records of the number of eggs and the dates when they were laid, how long before they hatched, and when the birds flew away; and the birds took no offense at my inquisitiveness. These are some of the cautions to be observed: Watch only those nests which can be seen without climbing, for if you have to climb the tree the birds will resent it. Make the visit when the birds are absent, if possible; at least, never scare the bird from the nest. Do not touch the eggs or the nest. Make your visit very short. Make up your mind just what you want to see, then look in quickly and pass on. Do not go too often; once or twice a day will be sufficient. Do not take the other children with you, for you are then likely to stay too long and to offend the birds.

Now let us see how intimately you can become acquainted with some bird this summer.

[Illustration: _Fig. 159._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 162._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 160._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 163._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 161._]

[Illustration: _Suggestions for home-made bird houses._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 164._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 165._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 166._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 167._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 168._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 169._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 170._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 171._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 172._]

[Illustration: _Improvised bird houses._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 173._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 176._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 174._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 175._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 177._]

[Illustration: _Suggestions for home-made bird houses._]

LEAFLET XXIII.

THE EARLY BIRDS.[30]

BY L. A. FUERTES.

[30] Nature-Study Quarterly, No. 4: Leaflet 17, March, 1900.

[Illustration]

After a long winter, many of us are too impatient for spring to wait for the swelling of the buds, the opening of the early flowers, and the springing of the grass. Several weeks lie between the end of winter and the truly genial spring days, and during this interval we look for something to herald the settled spring season. And the thing which gives us that for which we are unconsciously looking, more than all other signs, is the arrival of the birds. Who has not warmed to the quavering call of the first blue-bird, or been suddenly thrilled some early spring day with the sunny notes of the song-sparrow!

In the southern part of this State, notably in the lower Hudson Valley, the winter is spent by several birds which elsewhere we are accustomed to see only after the winter has passed. Among these are the blue-bird, robin, song-sparrow, white-throated-sparrow, meadow-lark, and possibly the purple-finch. But in most of the State we must wait until the first or second week in March before we can be sure of seeing any of them. It is a question which of the earlier birds will first make its appearance, as these early migrants are much less regular in their movements than those that come late in April and in May, after the weather has become settled. Many a robin and blue-bird arrives during some early warm "spell," to find himself suddenly surrounded by flying snow and blown about by cold winds. But these and a few other hardy ones seem able to stand such rebuffs with great equanimity, and the momentary shining of a fickle March sun will often evoke some pent-up song-sparrow's notes from the shelter of a hedge or thicket. Robins, blue-birds, song-sparrows, cowbirds, meadow-larks, phoebes, bronzed grackles, kingfishers, and doves may be looked upon as the vanguards of the hosts of migrating birds that come to us each year, and the first four or five may be expected almost any time after the first week in March. If the winter has been late, these may not appear until the middle or even the latter part of the month, in which case one is busy keeping track of the arrivals, as the other birds have caught up then, and all come nearly at the same time.

It is unnecessary to give detailed descriptions of robins, bluebirds, and song-sparrows, as nearly everyone is familiar with them; but some of the other early comers may be more easily recognized if some field impressions of them be given.

* * * * *

Almost any warm day in early March we may hear a thin, clear "tsssss" in a high piping key, and on looking up see from one to five black birds, about the size of orioles, flying in a strange undulating manner--some up and some down, with the wings held close to their sides during the "drop" in their flight. They are cowbirds. The flock may swirl into the top of a tree and sit close together. (Fig. 178.) If this happens within eyeshot, stop and watch them for a moment. One or two of the males are almost certain to utter the ridiculous song of the species, which, like that of their relatives, the grackles, is accompanied by the most grotesque of actions. The bird spreads its wings to their utmost, spreads and elevates the tail, stretches its neck upwards and forwards, and then, quivering and tottering, nearly falls forward off the perch. The only sound which accompanies this absurd action is a faint chuckling "clk-sfs'k," which is scarcely to be heard a hundred feet away.

[Illustration: _Fig. 178. Cowbirds._]

* * * * *

With the cowbirds we may expect the arrival of the bronzed grackles, which resemble them much in flight, but are larger and come in far larger flocks--sometimes ten, sometimes a hundred or more. Their arrival is known by the vigorous calls they utter while flying, a loud bass "jook." When seen squabbling in the spruce trees or in the bare branches of the willows fringing the streams, the males are likely to be giving their "song." It is scarcely more of a note than the cowbird's, a rusty squeak, and it is accompanied by a contortion in the same manner. It is not such a pronounced effort, however, and is often only a slight shudder and shrug of the shoulders. They feed, like cowbirds, mostly on the ground, and walk about most sedately in the grass like small crows. In tall grass, however, they waddle too much to be graceful. When taking flight they spread their long pointed tails in a very peculiar and characteristic manner--not out in a horizontal plane, like most birds, but up at the sides in the shape of a gardener's trowel, which gives them an extraordinary appearance.

* * * * *

The redwings begin to come into the marshes soon after the grackles, and are at that time in full feather and song. Their rich, deliberate "clonk-ka lrrrrrrr," interlarded with the clear piping whistles of some of the flock, makes a concert of bird-notes very dear to all who are familiar with it. In their scarlet and black velvet dress these birds are impossible to mistake, whether seen chasing over the marshes, singing from an elm-top, or balancing with spread tail upon some tall reed stalk.

* * * * *

There is a bird-note so often and so justly mistaken for that of the phoebe that the error certainly merits correction. The spring song of the chick-a-dee (which may be heard on almost any warm day all winter, and is very easy to call forth by even a poorly whistled imitation) is a clear, pure "^[=eee]_{[=eee]}" or "[--__ __]" which really says "Phoebe" much more plainly than the true phoebe note, this latter being much lower in tone, and only to be heard after March is well on, and almost always in the vicinity of running streams and brooklets; while the gay little chick-a-dee whistles at any time or place that suits his versatile fancy.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Fig. 179. Meadow larks._]

The mellow flute notes of the meadow larks (Fig. 179) float to us from the middle of some large, open field, and are among the most beautiful bits of bird music we ever hear. They are not to be represented by notes, and can only be most inadequately described. There is great variation in the sequence of notes, but all are beautifully clear and ringing, and have a decided tinge of what would be sadness if it were not so sweet. The bird flies in a very characteristic manner, never raising the wings above the plane of the back, and when seen below the horizon line always shows the white feathers in the tail. His saffron breast and black breast-mark seldom show on the living birds, and the mottled brown back is a wonderful safeguard against his many overhead enemies.

* * * * *

Two or more doves may be seen winging their headlong flight through the air. These are among the swiftest of birds, and are generally out of eyeshot almost before you have seen them. (That is one way of knowing what they are.) In flight, they look like small pigeons with very long graduated tails, and when, in some old orchard or open wood, you see one rise from the ground into a tree, the white lateral feathers in the tail make an easily recognizable mark. (Fig. 180.) Their cooing notes are well known--a high-pitched "overtone," followed by several long bell-toned "[(ooooo],--[(ooooo]," notes.

[Illustration: _Fig. 180. Mourning doves._]

* * * * *

About April 1 to 10, you may hear a scratching in the dead leaves among the underbrush in any thickly grown tangle, and upon cautiously coming up you may discover the authors--not big grouse as you may have supposed, but a flock of fine, vigorous fox-sparrows on their way to their northern breeding grounds. They are bright bay fellows, with boldly blotched brown and white breasts, diligently scattering the leaves for their food of seeds, spiders, ants, and various insects. If you have been fortunate enough not to have been seen you may hear their song, which is one of the finest of our sparrow songs, readily recognizable as such, though not resembling any of its fellows--a clear, vigorous carol, often ending abruptly with a rather unmusical "clip." If, however, they have seen you, you will be treated to a sharp "tseep!" and a rear view of a flock of rapidly retreating birds, for they are not sociable (with us, at least), and generally take a hint to move on before you know of their presence. They do not stay long with us on their migration, and seeing them one day is no indication that you can find them the next.

* * * * *

Although the white-throated sparrows spend the winter in our southern counties, they do not start their northward journey as early as we might expect, and it is not until the first part of April that we may be sure of finding them. I have one list, indeed that shows their first appearance on May first!

They are to be found in places similar to those which the fox-sparrows choose, and are very similar to them in habits, but the boldly striped head and gray breast are very distinctive marks. Almost all of our native sparrows have a call note, the "tsweep" note, which is hard to distinguish in the different species without much patient listening--and I doubt if any person is infallible in this distinction. The white-throat has this note, as well as the song-sparrow, tree-sparrow (a winter-bird), fox-sparrow, white-crown, chippy, field-sparrow, grass-finch, in fact all our brown-backed sparrows. But the song of the white-throat is his own, and may be heard frequently during his very leisurely journey through our state. His Canadian name, "Peabody bird" is descriptive of his notes, "-- _.., _.., _.." When a number get together and whistle, as if they were singing a round, it makes a very sweet concert.

[Illustration: _Fig. 181. White-throated sparrow._]

* * * * *

One of the foremost birds in the spring movement is the grass-finch (vesper-sparrow or bay-winged bunting). It is to be found in open fields and along roadside fences, in company with meadow larks, and its sweet song may be heard almost any warm evening after the middle of April. Unlike most of our birds, this sparrow sings at its best late in the afternoon and during twilight, which perhaps makes its song seem the sweeter. It is rather a gentle song, though to be heard at some distance, carrying quite as far as that of the song-sparrow. Although the quality of voice is somewhat similar in these two birds, the grass-finch lacks the merry abandon that characterizes the song-sparrow's song, but has instead a deeper chord, which is called by some people sadness. The bird may be easily recognized in the fields by the white tail-feathers, which always show in flight. It is about the size and general color of the song-sparrow.

* * * * *

By the time the foregoing birds are comparatively common, and the maple buds are bursting and the lilacs swelling, the gay purple finch appears. He is not purple at all, but has a crimson head, which fades on the lower breast through rosy pink into pure white. He is fond of spruces and larches, feeding greedily on the tender buds as well as on the ants and scale insects that infest them. His song is a fine one, and in addition to the charm of being poured forth in full flight, is so long and intricate that one finds himself holding his breath as the burst of melody continues, as if to help the little fellow catch up with his music.

* * * * *

Along the banks of some lake or stream, sitting idly on a telegraph pole or wire, rising and settling, elevating and depressing his long parted top-knot, a patriarchal old kingfisher may be seen silently awaiting the gleam of a shiner in the water below (Fig. 182). Or perhaps you may first see him flying like a big woodpecker, screaming his chattering cry high in the air, or scaling close to the water under the fringing hemlock branches that overhang the stream. His large size, slate-blue back, loud notes, and characteristic flight make him a hard bird to mistake in any case.

[Illustration: _Fig. 182. Kingfisher._]

* * * * *

There are many other birds which pass us on their way north, but they herald rather the summer than the breaking of spring. The following list of spring migrations is taken from Mr. Chapman's "Handbook of the Birds of Eastern North America," and was compiled for use about New York City. The dates nearly coincide with those I have found about the central part of the State, and are, in the main, only a few days in advance of those for the northern counties. The latter dates in the column are about what may be taken for the middle tier of counties.

It is the earnest hope of the writer that these few very brief sketches may be of use to those interested in entering the delightful field of the study of birds; your experience may and probably will be different from that which I have cited, which only goes to show that everyone must really see for himself, and not only that, but by so doing may make new observations and get new ideas on practically all of even our best known birds. Birds are not, as a rule, hard to watch, and the patience it requires to sit still and "be a stump" long enough for birds to cease noticing you is soon and amply repaid by the new insight into an unknown realm which is sure to follow.

LIST OF BIRDS COMPRISING THE SPRING MIGRATION.

(Until April 20--Approximate.)

(_Taken from Chapman's Handbook of Birds of Eastern North America._)

Date of arrival.

Feb. 15-Mar. 10. Purple Grackle. Rusty Grackle. Red-winged Blackbird. Robin. Bluebird.

Mar. 10-20 Woodcock. Phoebe. Meadow Lark. Cowbird. Fox-sparrow.

Mar. 20-31 Wilson's Snipe. Kingfisher. Mourning Dove. Swamp-sparrow. Field-sparrow.

April 1-10 Great Blue Heron. Purple Finch. Vesper-sparrow. Savanna-sparrow. Chipping-sparrow. Tree Swallow. Myrtle Warbler. American Pipit. Hermit Thrush.

April 10-20 Yellow-bellied Woodpecker. Barn Swallow. Yellow Palm Warbler. Pine Warbler. Louisiana Water Thrush. Ruby-crowned Kinglet.

LEAFLET XXIV.

THE WOODPECKERS.[31]

BY ANNA BOTSFORD COMSTOCK.

[31] Home Nature-Study Course, Vol. IV, No. 30, March, 1903.

[Illustration]

It is best to follow some definite line of bird study for an entire year. All of the observations that could be made in a single month on any bird would give but an inadequate idea of its habits. To know the life of a bird, one must study it month by month for at least one year.

The woodpeckers seem a most attractive group for our study. They are not only very interesting, but of great importance to the farmer, orchadist and forester. There are five common species in New York State that we all may learn to know, and then make observations of our own on their habits. These species are the downy, the hairy, the sapsucker, the flicker and the redhead. The way to begin our observations in winter is to tie a piece of suet to the branch of some tree easily observed from our windows. Such a bird feast as this is on a branch of a chestnut oak in front of my office window, and though I never have time to watch more than momentarily the birds that come there to eat, yet each glance tells me something of their ways, and my own day's work is much brighter and happier therefor. The "downy" (Fig. 183), as he is universally called, comes with his mate every day and they eat greedily of the suet; when they first arrive they are so absorbed in working this food mine that I sometimes stand directly beneath and watch them without frightening them. Perhaps they know that I am the friend who invited them to breakfast. Anyway, as soon as they leave the suet they hunt industriously over my tree, finding there all of the hidden insects, and thus they keep my oak clean and pay for their breakfast. Occasionally the hairy woodpecker comes, a self-invited guest to the suet banquet. To the untrained eye he looks very like an over-grown downy, as he is by two or three inches the longer; but his outer tail feathers are entirely white, while the downy's are barred with black; usually the red cap of the hairy is divided by a black stripe. The hairy is said to be a shy bird, but I have seen him several times this winter at a suet party near dwellings.

In April there is likely to appear in any region of New York State a bird which is often mistaken for the downy or hairy, although it is very different in both coloring and habits. This is the sapsucker, the only woodpecker of bad repute (Fig. 184). However, I am sure its deeds are not nearly so black as they are painted. The male sapsucker has a bright red crown and chin and throat, his breast is yellow, and he is also yellowish on the back; while the males of the downy and hairy are red-capped and black and white with no yellow.

[Illustration: _Fig. 183. Downy woodpecker._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 184. Sapsucker._]

QUESTIONS ON WOODPECKERS TO BE ANSWERED IN MARCH.

1. What is the difference in appearance between the male and female downy?

2. How does the downy travel down a tree; does it go head-first? What food have you seen it eat?

3. How does the downy use its tail in going up and down the tree trunk?

4. Have you approached a woodpecker closely enough to see how its toes are arranged? If so, describe them.

5. How does it manage its head to make its blows forceful?

6. Are you able to discriminate between the hairy and the downy when you see them? How?

7. Do you know the difference in the notes of the hairy and downy? Explain.

DOWNY, SAPSUCKER AND RED-HEAD.[32]

[32] Home Nature-Study Course, Vol. IV, No. 31, April, 1903.

This morning I was awakened by the beating of a drum over in the woods. My ear was not yet sufficiently trained so that I knew whether my drummer was Mr. Downy or Mr. Hairy, yet I strongly suspected the former. The tattoo of the Sapsucker (which does not nest here) James Whitcomb Riley has aptly characterized as "Weeding out the lonesomeness." This is exactly what the drumming of woodpeckers in the early spring means. The male selects some dried limb of hard wood and there beats out his well-known signal which advertises far and near, "Wanted, a wife." And after he wins her he keeps on drumming to cheer her, while she is busy with her family cares. The woodpecker has no voice for singing, like the robin or thrush, and realizing his deficiency, he does not insist on singing like the peacock, whether he can or no. He chooses rather to devote his voice to terse and business-like conversation, and when he is musically inclined he turns drummer. He is rather particular about his instrument, and, having found one that pleases him in tone, returns to it day after day.

In case the drumming I heard this morning was an advertisement for a wife, I am interested to know what has become of Mrs. Downy, who has been true to her mate all winter. Does, perhaps, the springtime bring divorce as well as marriage? Mr. Burroughs tells of a downy that was absolutely brutal in his treatment of his mate in winter, not allowing her to live in his neighborhood. Be this as it may, the downy and the hairy woodpeckers that have feasted upon my suet this winter have invariably come in pairs, and while only one at a time sits at meat, and the lord and master is somewhat "bossy," yet they seem to get along as well as most married pairs.

The sapsucker is a woodpecker that has strayed from the paths of virtue; he has fallen into temptation by the wayside, and instead of drilling a hole for the sake of the grub at the end of it he drills it for its own sake. He is a tippler and sap is his beverage. He is especially fond of the sap of the mountain ash, apple, thorn apple, canoe birch, red maple, red oak and white ash. He drills his holes in beautiful rows, and sometimes girdles a limb or tree, and for this he is pronounced a rascal by men who have themselves ruthlessly cut from our land millions of trees that should now be standing. However, the sapsucker does not live solely on sap and the soft cambium layer of the tree; he also feeds on insects wherever he finds them. When feeding their young, sapsuckers are true flycatchers, getting the insects while on the wing. If you find a sapsucker girdling a tree in your orchard or a birch on your lawn, just protect the trees with a wire netting, and let the sapsucker catch mosquitoes for you instead, and remember that he belongs to a good family and is entitled to some consideration, even if he has taken to drink.

The red-head (Fig. 185) is well named, for his helmet and visor show a vivid, glowing crimson that stirs the sensibilities of the color lover. He is readily distinguished from all other woodpeckers because his entire head and the bib under his chin are red. For the rest, he is a beautiful dark metallic blue and white. He is a most adept drummer, and his roll is a long one. One that I observed last spring selected a dead limb at the top of an oak tree and there he drummed merrily every morning. He is an adaptable fellow and has been known to drum on tin roofs and lightning rods, thus braving the dangers of civilization for the sake of better music. Though he can rattle so well when he is musically inclined, he is not, after all, much of a woodpecker, for he lives mostly on insects which he catches while they are crawling or on the wing, and he also likes nuts. He is especially fond of beech nuts, and, being a thrifty fellow as well as musical, in time of plenty he stores up food against time of need. He places his nuts in crevices and forks of branches, in holes in trees, and other hiding places. Lets us watch him this spring and see whether we can discover what he eats.

[Illustration: _Fig. 185. The Red-headed Woodpecker._]

QUESTIONS ABOUT WOODPECKERS TO BE ANSWERED IN APRIL AND MAY.

1. Have you observed any species of woodpecker drumming?

2. Have you been able to see the drum? If so, describe it.

3. Are you able to distinguish between the tapping of the woodpecker when searching for food, and his drumming when he is making music?

4. If you have made any observations on the sapsucker, please give them.

5. Have you seen the sapsucker at work? If so, did the holes girdle the tree? Were the holes round or square?

6. Have you seen the red-head this spring?

7. Describe the way the woodpecker uses its tail when climbing a tree.

8. Send for Bulletin No. 7, of the United States Department of Agriculture, Division of Ornithology, called "Food of Woodpeckers." Read this Bulletin and answer these questions: Does the sapsucker do more harm than good? What special benefit to us is the red-head? Which is the most useful of our woodpeckers?

THE FLICKER OR YELLOW HAMMER.[33]

[33] Home Nature-Study Course, Vol. IV, No. 32, May, 1903.

The first time I ever saw a flicker I said, "What a wonderful meadow lark, and what is it doing on that ant hill?" But another glance revealed to me a red spot on the back of the bird's neck, and as soon as I was sure that this was not a bloody gash I knew it belonged to no meadow lark. The golden brown plumage dotted with black, the under wings of luminous yellow, the white spot above the tail, the ashen gray back, and, above all, the oriental ornaments of crescents,--one brilliant red across the back of the neck, one black across the breast,--all conduce to make the flicker one of our most showy and beautiful birds. The flicker has many names, such as golden-winged woodpecker, yellow hammer, highhole, and yarup or wake-up, and many others. It earned the name of highhole because of its way of excavating its nest high up in trees, usually between ten and twenty-five feet from the ground. It especially loves an old apple tree as a site for a nest, and most of our large, old orchards of New York State may boast of a pair of these handsome birds during the nesting season of May and June. However, the flicker is not above renting any house he finds vacant which was made by other birds last year. The flicker earned his name of "yarup" or "wake-up" from his spring song, which is a rollicking jolly "wick-a-wick-a-wick." As a business bird the flicker shines in the rather extraordinary line of eating ants. It has a tongue equipped almost exactly like the tongue of the animal called the ant eater, and it often may be seen using it with great effectiveness in catching the little communal laborers.

[Illustration: _Fig. 186. Young Flickers._]

Those who have observed the flicker during the courting season declare him to be the most silly and vain of all the bird wooers. Mr. Baskett says, "When he wishes to charm his sweet-heart he mounts a very small twig near her, and lifts his wings, spreads his tail, and begins to nod right and left as he exhibits his mustache to his charmer, and sets his jet locket first on one side of the twig and then the other. He may even go so far as to turn his head half around to show her the pretty spot on his 'back hair.' In doing all this he performs the most ludicrous antics, and has the silliest of expressions of face and voice as if in losing his heart, as some one phrases it, he had lost his head also."

SUMMARY OF THE STUDY OF WOODPECKERS.

We have now studied our five species of woodpeckers common in New York State, and I trust that you know them all by sight. When you are teaching the children about the woodpecker, there are many interesting stories to tell about the way that his form is adapted to his life. Some of these stories are as follows: First. The woodpecker's bill, which is a drill and chisel, and how he uses it for getting at the grub or the borer in the wood, and for making the hole for the nest, and for drumming when he feels musical. Second. The tongue, which is a barbed spear, and has a wonderful spring attachment of bones which allows it to be thrust far out. This tongue is fitted in each case to get the kind of food which sustains its owner. Third. The feet have a special arrangement of toes which allows the bird to cling tenaciously to a tree trunk. Study the way the fourth toe, which may be compared to our little finger, has been moved around backward so that it acts as another thumb. Fourth. Study how the tail made of stiff feathers is particularly adapted to act as a brace, helping the bird to climb a tree. In studying all these things I would especially recommend you to a little book called, "The Woodpeckers" by Fannie Hardy Eckstrom, published by Houghton, Mifflin & Co., price $1.00.

QUESTIONS ON THE FLICKER.

1. Have you ever seen a flicker?

2. Do you know its song?

3. Has the flicker a straight bill like the downy's?

4. What are the differences between the male and female flicker?

5. Have you ever seen a flicker catching ants? Describe.

6. Do you think the flicker is a beneficial bird? If so, why?

7. Have you ever seen a flicker's nest? Describe.

8. Do you know how the flicker feeds its young? Explain.

9. Describe the difference in color between the male and female of the (a) downy, (b) the hairy, (c) the redhead, (d) the sapsucker, (e) and the flicker.

10. How can you tell the difference between a flicker and a meadow lark during flight?

[Illustration: _Downy's long tongue._]

LEAFLET XXV.

THE CHICKADEE.[34]

[34] Home Nature-Study Course, Vol. V, No. 3, December, 1903.

BY ANNA BOTSFORD COMSTOCK.

_He is the hero of the woods; there are courage and good nature enough in that compact little body, which you may hide in your fist, to supply a whole groveful of May songsters. He has the Spartan virtue of an eagle, the cheerfulness of a thrush, the nimbleness of Cock Sparrow, the endurance of the seabirds condensed into his tiny frame, and there have been added a pertness and ingenuity all his own. His curiosity is immense, and his audacity equal to it; I have even had one alight upon the barrel of the gun over my shoulder as I sat quietly under his tree._--ERNEST INGERSOLL.

[Illustration]

However careless we may be of our friends when we are in the midst of the luxurious life of summer, even the most careless among us give pleased attention to the birds that bravely endure with us the rigors of winter. And when this winged companion of winter proves to be the most fascinating little ball of feathers ever created, constantly overflowing with cheerful song, our pleased attention changes to active delight. Thus it is that in all the lands of snowy winters the chickadee is a loved comrade of the country wayfarer; that happy song, "chick-a-dee-dee-dee," finds its way to the dullest consciousness and the most callous heart.

One day in February we were, with much enjoyment, wading through a drifted highway that skirted a forest, the least twig of which bore a burden of soft snow. Over all hung that silence of winter which is the most "silent silence" that rests upon the earth anywhere outside the desert. No breeze swayed a creaking branch or shook from it the snow in soft thud to the white carpet below. Even the song of the brook was smothered beneath coverlets of ice and pillows of drift. We stood fast, awed by the stillness, when suddenly it was broken by the thrilling notes of the chickadees. We could hardly credit our senses, for it seemed as if the woods was a hopeless place for any living creature that morning. But there before our eyes was a flock of these courageous birds hunting for food on the leeward sides of boles and branches left bare and black in the recent storm. Their tiny weights sent the snow in showers from the terminal twigs, which phenomenon was greeted with triumphant song while the cheerful midgets hunted the relieved branches topside and bottomside for any lurking tidbit. As we watched them, Emerson's poem came to mind:

"Piped a tiny voice near by, Gay and polite, a cheerful cry-- Chick-chickadeedee! saucy note Out of sound heart and merry throat, As if it said, 'Good-day, good Sir! Fine afternoon, old passenger! Happy to meet you in these places Where January brings few faces.'"

No wonder that the great American philosopher was attracted by this other American philosopher who sings when he is cold and hungry.

[Illustration: _Fig. 187. A chickadee at the entrance to its nest._]

Besides its usual song the chickadee has a song that says "phoebe" much more distinctly than does the song of the phoebe itself. Few people recognize this, and often in February or early March it is announced in the local newspaper, "The phoebe-birds were heard to-day" though it may be weeks yet before these birds arrive. The two songs may be easily distinguished by even the ear untrained to music. In the phoebe song of the chickadee, the last syllable is at least one note lower than the first and has a falling inflection; while the last syllable of the phoebe bird's song is at least a half note higher than the first and has a rising inflection.

Not long since I visited the deserted nest of a devoted pair of chickadees. It was cuddled down in the bottom of a hole that opened on the very top of a fence post, and, one would imagine, must have been wet more than once while inhabited. However, a large family was raised there during the past season and much enjoyment was derived from watching the many fubsy birdlings that found home and comfort in that unattractive retreat. I looked upon them with special interest, for I was sure they would visit the suet on my trees this winter and thus become friendly neighbors.

As soon as the trees are bare, nail or tie bits of suet to branches which may be observed from your windows. I know of no investment which pays such enormous dividends both to pleasure and pocket as do suet restaurants in orchards patronized by chickadees. Every child, at home or school, will be attracted by this experiment.

QUESTIONS ON THE CHICKADEE.

1. Describe the colors of the chickadee above; below; wings; tail; throat and head.

2. Describe the differences in coloring between the chickadee and the nuthatch.

3. What is the shape of the chickadee's beak and for what is it adapted?

4. Does it frequent the trunks of trees, or the twigs?

5. Describe its actions when hunting for food on a twig.

6. What is the chief food of the chickadee?

7. Why is it of special value to the farmer?

8. What are the differences in the winter and summer habits of the chickadee?

9. Do you know the "phoebe" note of the chickadee?

10. Where do these birds build their nests and of what material?

11. What are the colors and markings on the eggs?

12. When is the nesting season?

LEAFLET XXVI.

THE WHITE-BREASTED NUTHATCH.[35]

BY ANNA BOTSFORD COMSTOCK.

[35] Home Nature-Study Course, Vol. V, No. 4, January, 1904.

The busy nuthatch climbs his tree, Around the great bole spirally, Peeping into wrinkles gray, Under ruffled lichens gay, Lazily piping one sharp note From his silver mailèd throat.

--MAURICE THOMPSON.

"_With more artless inquisitiveness than fear, this lively little acrobat stops his hammering or hatching at your approach, and stretching himself out from the tree until it would seem he must fall off, he peers down at you, head downward, straight into your upturned opera-glass. If there is too much snow on the upper side of a branch watch how he runs along underneath it like a fly, busily tapping the bark, or adroitly breaking the decayed bits with his bill, as he stretches for the spider's eggs, larvæ, etc., hidden there; yet somehow, between mouthfuls, managing to call out his cherry quank! quank! hank! hank!_"

--NELTJE BLANCHAN.

[Illustration]

A voice outside is calling at me; I cannot describe it accurately, but it is making delightful woodsy remarks that make me long to throw aside the pen and go out and wander where the snow is making still softer the carpet of dead leaves on the forest floor. It is not a musical note but it is most enticing and translates into sound the picture of bare-branched trees and the feeling of enchantment that permeates the forest in winter. Neltje Blanchan says the voice reiterates "quank, quank," others say it is "nay, nay"--but no nasal sound of the human voice, and no spelling of the English language adequately represent this call of the white-breasted nuthatch.

On the tree in front of the window I can see the owner of this sylvan voice. He is a little bird blue-gray above with black head and black and white V-trimmings on the back of his suit and with soft, white breast. He is flitting blithely from tree to tree enjoying the snow storm and coming often to the suet feast which I have spread for him and for his little feathered kin.

[Illustration: _Fig. 188. The nuthatch, one of the winter birds._]

We have been having exciting times at the suet banquet this morning. The building in which my office is, stands on a high knoll near the forest-covered brink of a deep gorge. Thus my window is opposite the tops of the trees. One of our nature-study staff, a brave and gallant knight, who loves birds and knows that I love to watch them, climbed two of these trees at imminent risk of breaking his neck in order to place this suet just opposite my window. The whole chickadee family and four nuthatches, and Sir Downy and Madam Hairy had been reveling in the feast all the morning when suddenly one after another three crows appeared upon the scene. My heart sank as I saw them eying the suet with interest. Nearer and nearer they hopped from branch to branch. I pounded on the window and called out, "Go away" in both the crow and the English language, all in vain. One crow braver or hungrier than the others with one defiant eye on me flapped confidently down and sought to carry the suet off in his beak; to his surprise it was tied on. That seemed suspicious and when we raised the window and leaning far out explained matters he lifted slowly with a jeering "caw" that said plainly "I'll call sometime when you are not at home" and with that he and his companions disappeared up the gorge. The invited guests at the suet table were less disturbed than was I, and I suppose it is rather inconsistent to feed the chickadees and let the ravens go hungry. But this suet will last the little birds a month while it would hardly furnish a breakfast for three crows; and in philanthropic enterprises one is obliged to draw the line somewhere even at the cost of consistency.

I will return to my nuthatch, who, by the way, has just hammered off a piece of suet and thrust it into a crevice of the bark on the tree bole. Why does he do that: is it for convenience in eating or is it an attempt to store up some of his dinner for future need? Anyway it is bad manners, like carrying off fruit from _table d' hote_. But he is polite enough in another respect; every time after eating the suet he wipes his beak on his branch napkin with great assiduity, first one side and then the other, almost as if he were sharpening it. The woodpeckers are similarly fastidious in cleaning suet off their beaks.

The loud note of the nuthatch, seeming to be out of proportion to the size of the bird is, by no means, its only note. Yesterday we observed a pair hunting over the branches of an elm over our heads, and they were talking to each other in sweet confidential syllables "wit, wit, wit," entirely different from the loud note that is meant for the world at large.

The nuthatches and chickadees hunt together all winter. This is no business partnership, but one of congeniality based upon similar tastes. Thus it is that the two birds are often confused. There is, however, a very noticeable character that distinguishes them at the first glance. Strange to say the nuthatch has also been confused with the sapsucker and has gained unjust obloquy thereby. How any one with eyes could confuse these two birds is a mystery, for they resemble each other in no particular nor in general appearance.

While the nuthatch finds much of its food on trees, yet Mr. Torrey tells of seeing one awkwardly turning over the fallen leaves for hidden cocoons and other things quite worth his while; and Mr. Baskett tells of having seem them catch flies in the air and becoming quite out of breath at this unusual exercise.

Audubon made some most interesting observations on the nuthatch. He says they may sleep hanging head downward. He also says of their nesting habits that "both birds work together, all the time congratulating each other in the tenderest manner. The male, ever conspicuous on such occasions, works some, and carries off the slender chips chiseled by the female. He struts around her, peeps into the hole, cherups at intervals, or hovers about her on the wing. While she is sitting on her eggs, he seldom absents himself many moments; now with a full bill he feeds her, now returns to be assured that her time is pleasantly spent."

The red-breasted nuthatch is sometimes associated with its white-breasted cousin; it is a smaller bird and is essentially a northern species. The nuthatches get their name from their habit of wedging nuts and acorns into bark and then hatching them open. From every standpoint the nuthatches are most desirable acquaintances, and we cannot spend our time to better advantage than in getting familiar with their interesting habits.

QUESTIONS ON THE WHITE-BREASTED NUTHATCH.

1. Describe from your own observations the colors of the nuthatch above and below.

2. (a) What is the most noticeable character that distinguishes the nuthatch from the chickadee? (b) Does the nuthatch usually frequent the bole or the twigs of a tree? (c) Is there any difference in this respect between the habits of the nuthatch and the chickadee?

3. Does the nuthatch alight with its head down or up?

4. Does it travel down or up? Does it always go in a spiral?

5. What is its food?

6. Does it open nuts for the meat or the grubs within?

7. Does it use its tail as a brace in climbing trees as does the woodpecker?

8. Where does it build its nest?

9. What is the color of the eggs?

10. Why does it seem less common in summer than in winter?

11. How does it use its feet when resting on a tree trunk?

12. Has it any special development of the feet to help it in traveling on tree trunks?

13. Do you know the note of the nuthatch? Describe.

14. How would you spell its note?

15. How does the nuthatch help the farmer and fruit grower?

LEAFLET XXVII.

ABOUT CROWS.[36]

BY MARY ROGERS MILLER.

[36] Home Nature-Study Course, Vol. IV, No. 27, December, 1902.

[Illustration]

Thousands and thousands of crows fast asleep amongst the branches of a grove of pines! The trees themselves look dark and sombre against the snowy hillside, but when the assemblage of dusky birds has gathered there, the shadows thicken and the darkness settles like a pall. Soon all is hushed and silent.

Would you not go miles to see such a sight?

Yet maybe you have lived for years within easy walking distance of a great crow "dormitory" without even suspecting its existence. You may have watched the crows flying overhead every morning and then again every afternoon, without noticing that they came from the same direction each morning and returned at nightfall. This was just my experience until I began to care about crows and their ways. Now I know that there is a sleeping roost a mile or so up one of our wooded valleys and the oldest inhabitant tells me that he remembers seeing "more'n a million" crows up there in winters when he was a boy. Undoubtedly generation after generation of crows return to these sleeping places; certain localities have probably been so used for centuries.

Although we have crows here all winter they may not be the same individuals that spent the summer here. The center of crow population in the eastern United States from November till February is the neighborhood of Chesapeake Bay. There the food supply is more abundant than where the ground is snow-covered in winter, and thither the crows migrate in innumerable armies. Dormitories from ten to thirty acres in extent and accommodating from ten thousand to three hundred thousand crows each have been found in that region.

Why crows gather thus in companies either small or large is undoubtedly due to their natural sociability. The opportunities for exhibition of conversational powers offered by such a custom seems to be greatly appreciated by every crow. Such a babel as they raise when in early morning their watchman rouses them from sleep! They appear to be reviling him for his untimely interruption. For several minutes the woods fairly ring with their loud, coarse shouts. Then, as if resigned to their fate, they take flight towards the feeding grounds. By sunset they all congregate again and after recounting their adventures, settle down early to sleep.

In open winters crows fare well enough. Seeds and berries are easy to get and considerable grain may be found in harvested fields. But like barnyard fowls, crows are omnivorous. After the grasshoppers disappear, a supply of animal food is hard to get. The silken egg-sacs of spiders are often found torn open and rifled, while suspiciously near by are the tracks of crows. Undoubtedly rabbits and field mice would unite with the spiders in declaring the crow to be their deadly enemy.

That crows eat corn is undeniable. The farmers know it to their sorrow, the bird's champions reluctantly admit it, the crow himself goes openly into the field, both in winter and summer, with no intent to conceal his intentions. And yet this universally acknowledged habit will bear investigation. Upon the real or supposed injury done to sprouting corn and to roasting-ears, the farmer and his sons base their animosity toward crows and rejoice at the wholesale or retail slaughter of these birds. Carefully prepared estimates show conclusively that the crow is the farmer's friend. Only _three per cent_ of the total food of the crow consists of corn in any form, while _twenty-six per cent_ consists of insects such as grasshoppers, May beetles (June bugs, whose young are the white grubs), cutworms and other injurious kinds. On such evidence as this would not an unprejudiced jury acquit the crow?

The best way to establish the crow in this new and true relationship to the farmer, is to interest the boys and girls in studying crows and their ways. To make a fair judgment, one must collect evidence. Mere hearsay is not always to be depended on. Justice and truth are worth working for. The case of the Crow _vs._ the Farmer, will give opportunity for the practice of both of these virtues.

WINTER BIRDS.[37]

[37] Quiz on Lesson No. 27, December, 1902.

The winter is not so devoid of life as we sometimes think. There are mammals in the woods and coverts, fishes in the lakes and deep brooks, birds in the forest and the open. Let us devote one early midwinter lesson to the birds. Have the children make particular observations on the English sparrow. Other birds may be observed, as, for example, our old friend the crow. All these birds touch the life of the farmer and the nature-lover. Those students who are so situated that a study of crows is impossible may substitute English sparrows, chickadees, woodpeckers or any other winter birds.

A bulletin entitled "The Common Crow" was issued by the U. S. Department of Agriculture in 1895. Students in this course can obtain one copy each by sending ten cents to Superintendent of Documents, Union Building, Washington, D. C. Do not send stamps.

Do crows winter in your vicinity?

Are you able to verify the statements made in the lesson concerning the flight in opposite directions in morning and evening? Give observations made since receiving this lesson.

Is there a crow dormitory in your vicinity? (Inquire of old residents and keep a close watch.)

Watch a crow on the wing. If he is flying low, try to count the big wing feathers. Note here any peculiarities of this bird's way of flying.

How does a crow hold on to a limb when asleep?

What characteristics have crows and chickens in common?

How do they differ?

Compare feathers, bills and feet of chickens and crows.

Look for crow tracks in the snow. Where have you seen them? Can you always tell which way the bird was going? How? Sketch the tracks on separate sheet.

How long is the longest toe, including the claw? Which toe is this?

Is the track ever longer than the toe itself? If so, why?

Have you ever seen the scratches in the snow made by the stiff wing feathers when the crow takes its flight from the ground?

Count the scratches.

What food have you seen crows eating?

Watch during the whole month and mention any new items you can add to their bill of fare.

Have you ever seen crow's nests? Where? When?

Describe the nest, eggs and nestlings, if you have seen them. (These are things to look for during the spring and summer.)

Does the plumage of the yearling crow differ from that of the older birds?

Do males and females differ in color?

Crows are said to possess remarkably well developed brains. What evidence have you of their sagacity, fearlessness, cunning or greed?

What other winter birds have you seen this year?

Give on separate sheet an account of a winter walk.

LEAFLET XXVIII.

HOW A SQUASH PLANT GETS OUT OF THE SEED.[38]

BY L. H. BAILEY.

[38] Teacher's Leaflet No. 1, December, 1896. The first Cornell nature-study leaflet. For a discussion of the title of this leaflet and what it signifies pedagogically, consult "The Integument Man," in "The Nature-Study Idea." (Doubleday, Page & Co.)

[Illustration]

If one were to plant seeds of a Hubbard or Boston Marrow squash in loose warm earth in a pan or box, and were th